A Life's Journey
by Nisse720
Summary: The journey is the destination. Childhood, adolescence, adulthood, marriage, and finally, falling in love.
1. Prologue: A Marital Journey

The characters depicted in this story do not belong to me, other than those I created. All credit is due to Beth Sullivan and her team for her brilliant series!

Prologue.

Sully's head lulled against the wall of the train compartment as he slept. Glowing, arousing images flitted behind his eyelids, sleep weighing down his limbs as his heart raced in response to his dreams. He felt warm, heavy, and exhilarated. Unconsciously, he shifted, his body settling further into the velvet seat.

Large, lustrous eyes gazed into his, flecks of jade and amber sparkling in the firelight. Love radiated there. They fluttered closed as he raised his thumb to stroke her jaw, thick lashes brushing flushed cheeks. His lips touched hers, feeling the sweet, tender whisper of her mouth against his. He pulled her closer, his skin tingling as her simple cotton nightgown brushed against his chest. His fingers sifted into her silky hair, auburn and russet gleaming in the firelight reflected off the wood-panels.

She pressed closer, sighing softly into his mouth. Soft, delicate fingers caressed his face, and he gasped when they brushed over his ear, combing into his hair. His breathing quickened at the intimacy of this kiss, in this bed. Their lips caressed more intimately, breaths mingling as he softly traced the curve of her back, her softness suffusing into his hardness. "Sully" she whispered on a gasp, burying her face in his neck. He wasn't breathing, but it only heightened the rush of sensation and emotion he felt.

"Michaela" he whispered, his head falling back as he inhaled shakily. The sound of his head hitting the wall jarred him out of his doze, and he jolted awake. Grateful that the elderly woman sharing his compartment was still asleep, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself.

He couldn't keep thinking about her like this. It had to stop. The Medicine Man, Cloud Dancing, whom he'd met on this trip west, had read his heart like an open book. He'd claimed the Cheyenne Spirits told him she was Sully's heartsong, his soul mate. He'd sat listening to Cloud Dancing for hours, in a field of wildflowers and long grasses somewhere in the Colorado wilderness, as he spoke of his people and shared his wisdom. Sully had smiled indulgently when Cloud Dancing offered this insight about Michaela, a small part of him hoping it could be true.

But now, he was heading back east. He looked out the window. The wilderness had rapidly dwindled away as the train raced toward Boston, and with civilization, reality came rushing back in its place. He could never tell her. She couldn't know he loved her like this. The knowledge would crumble the foundations of their marriage, and she would never trust him again.

Michaela sighed as the carriage pulled up to the house. It had been a trying day at the hospital, battling Dr. Drummond once more over her competence as a physician. She was tired, and she missed Sully. He had been gone nearly six months this time. Now, with summer drawn to a close and autumn fast approaching, the holidays were on her mind, and she wanted him here to share them with her.

Shaking her head, she scolded herself. They had agreed from the beginning that their marriage would be a platonic partnership between close friends. She had never expected such feelings to arise within her, and now that they had, she must stifle them. It wouldn't do to confuse things now, so early on in their life together. She couldn't bear it if he were to feel uncomfortable around her because she was mooning over him. That discomfort would quickly grow into contempt, an outcome far worse than denying these emotions.

Ascending the steps to the front door, it swung open in front of her before she could knock, and Cummings greeted her warmly.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Quinn." Quietly closing the door behind her, he held out his hands for her neatly tailored wool coat, a warm smile on his lips. He was always such a comfort, a welcome, when she arrived home.

"Thank you Cummings, and good afternoon." She straightened her dress, tucking a stray curl back into the intricate arrangement at the back of her head. "Is there any mail?" She hoped for a letter from Sully, and at the same time told herself she shouldn't.

Turning from hanging her coat up, he nodded, a curious smile on his lips. "On the desk in the study." He nodded to her, turned on his heel, and left through the dining room.

Wondering at his odd behavior, Michaela turned toward the study, unable to quell the anticipation that rose in her chest at the prospect of a letter waiting for her.

Entering the dim room, she stopped short. A fire had been laid in the grate, and the back of a very familiar head rested against the richly upholstered wingback chair before the fire. Michaela couldn't prevent the happy smile from her lips, nor the butterflies which fluttered suddenly, insistently, in her stomach. Tiredness fell away as adrenaline flooded her system with giddy energy. Fighting to maintain her composure, she stepped forward.

"Sully." her voice, a half-whisper, sounded pleased, surprised, relieved. He rose quickly at her greeting, turning to face her. "You're home."

He smiled a boyish, goofy smile at her obvious statement, striding towards her and enveloping her tightly in his arms. "Yeah, finally."

This was his girl. The one whose bright eyes and enchanting smile had stayed with him throughout his trip, no matter the conditions. It felt so good to hold her, to feel her slender frame held securely against his, her smooth hair against his cheek, her fresh, sweet scent flooding his senses, her softness, her energy. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, seeing life and hope and affection burning brightly there, caged within a very composed exterior.

He resisted the impulse to touch her cheek, to draw out that vibrant life dancing within her eyes. Instead, he squeezed her hand as he released her. "I missed you. Six months…"

She nodded. "It felt like a lifetime. I've missed you, too…" She paused, and they smiled at each other for a second, lost momentarily in their secret affections for one another. Michaela shook her head suddenly. "Oh Sully, you must be exhausted; you should rest. If I'd known you were coming home I'd have had Jane make all of your favorites-"

He held up his hand, interrupting her. "No need. I wanted to surprise ya." Her eyebrows rose at his relaxed speech, and her mind flashed to what he might be like out west. It occurred to her that it must fit him perfectly: wild, simple, free. "I thought maybe we could let Jane and Cummings go for the night, eat something simple. Catch up. Letters can only say so much." He looked at her, trying to gage her thoughts. "Whaddya say?"

They settled themselves before the fire with a loaf of bread, cheese, and leftover apple pie. Sully poured them hot cups of tea. Michaela prodded him about his trip for hours, and slowly, he painted mental portraits for her of the land, towns, Indians, his interactions as a negotiator. How he had befriended the Cheyenne Medicine Man Cloud Dancing and Chief Black Kettle, and was welcomed amongst them, sleeping for days in their teepees, sharing meals and learning their ways.

Michaela listened with rapt attention, her eyes lighting up in excitement at his adventures and saddening at his frustrations. And she admired him. She admired his astute discernment of people's character, his intuitive knack for finding creative solutions to problems, his ability to identify commonalities between the Indians, government, and settlers in order to bring them together, to help them agree on potential solutions that best benefited everyone.

Her eyes took in his face – his blue eyes alight with excitement, the western world hidden therein, his strong brow, nose, and jaw set in contrast to his soft-looking lips. The bronze hue his skin had acquired in the western sun, the bleached streaks in his hair from the same. He had unbuttoned his shirt at the top, and shucked his jacket, shoes, and tie long ago. He looked so casual and easy sitting there cross-legged before the fire, and she wondered if he had always been meant for a world other than this, other than Boston or New York, away from societal expectations. It had never really occurred to her before, and the implications frightened her.

As he spoke, he studied her surreptitiously. The tension he had always sensed in her between freedom and restraint seemed so obvious now, as she sat erect and carefully arranged upon the oriental rug. She had let her hair down, the tight curls of earlier in the day relaxing in the warmth of the fire, tumbling loosely about her shoulders in free, luxurious waves. He wondered how much more herself she would be out west, far away from the expectations and conventions of Boston society.

Then, he prodded her about the last six months at the hospital, her struggles against the male contingent of her profession, also her medical victories, the people she had helped. He felt so proud of her, of her determination and intelligence, her compassion and love. How she persevered, despite the battles she fought to maintain her influence. And through it all she modeled integrity and earned respect.

His heart swelled with love for her. In the long months of his absence he had never stopped thinking of her, wondering if some long-ago planted seed of love for her had begun to sprout. Now, he was sure of it; it was flourishing.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Giggling, she scrambled high up into the leafy branches of the giant oak. The early summer sunlight flickering through the leaves dappled playfully over the loose coppery curls cascading down her back, her blue dress and white pinafore mirroring the deep blue sky above, flecked with fluffy white clouds.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as her sparkling, childlike eyes opened wide in surprise to reveal mismatched olive and hazel, perfectly reflecting the bright green leaves and rich brown branches which cradled her. "…hello…" she finished with a shy smile.

"Hi" he returned quietly, somewhat surprised himself to find he was no longer alone in his loft, but suddenly in the presence of a fairylike little girl with sweetly blushing cheeks and a bright, welcoming smile. He was immediately enchanted by her, and for a moment, wondered if she was real, for her presence was so unexpected, her giggle so musical, and her appearance so compelling a reflection of the nature that surrounded them.

She returned his silent gaze with a curious one of her own, her mind absorbing the rough textures of his pants and jacket, the soft sunkissed curls of his short brown hair, the warm tan of his skin, and the deep sky blue of his eyes. She fleetingly wondered how someone dressed so crudely could look so neat and clean, perched comfortably and – naturally – in a tree such as he was.

"Do you mind if I stay with you for a little while? I'm hiding from Martha, and she is sure to find me if I climb down now," she spoke enthusiastically, smiling as she peered through the branches out into the Common.

"S-sure" he affirmed, wondering at the grateful eyes and sweet smile he gained as a response from this ethereal creature.

"Thank you! My name is Michaela, but you may call me Mike, if you'd like to."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. The name Mike didn't do her justice at all, but the idea that she'd accepted such a nickname told him she lived without pretense, despite what he suspected from the fine weave of her clothing and delicate construction of her boots to be a privileged upbringing.

"Byron" he returned, cringing, and held out his hand in greeting. She took it, unaccustomed as she was to shaking hands, and marveled at the warmth and strength she felt there, coming from a little boy his size.

"Who are _you_ hiding from?" The question was curious, but gentle and compassionate, while still resonating of the energetic soul encased within her little body.

"No one. Just came up here to think." The warm breeze ruffled lightly through the leaves, causing the dappled sunlight to dance on their forms, and the copper wisps at her temples and ears to tickle her skin.

"Oh, well it is a lovely spot to think, isn't it? I can leave if you'd like…I hate it when people interrupt me while I'm thinking…" she began to carefully inch herself down her branch, her black-stockinged legs further testifying to her delicate frame as she moved her skirts out of the way.

"Wait, it's alright, you don't gotta go. 'Sides, I thought you were hidin'?" The sincerity on his face mixed with a dash of desperation. No one had shown him such consideration in a long time, and he didn't want to let her go yet.

"Alright, if you're sure. I don't want to bother you. But I've got to let her find me sometime, I suppose…" Again, the light, spirited giggle emerged and her eyes glowed as she moved up to sit next to him on the branch. "Do you live nearby?"

"Uh, no…yeah, I guess so…" Sully's brow knit together and his downcast eyes clouded over. He sighed, "I don't live nowhere," he admitted. Internally, he was overcome by the still fresh grief of losing his home and mother, and he wondered why he felt such a need to connect with her, to tell her everything, when he couldn't bring himself to speak to anyone else.

As she watched sorrow engulf him, Michaela's felt tears form in her eyes. Afraid to upset him further by pursuing the subject, she wondered to herself how someone could live nowhere. He had to live somewhere, didn't he? "I'm sorry, Byron. I didn't mean to upset you." Her arm came around his shoulders compassionately, and she gently laid her head against his in silence.

Sully had never felt such comfort, such peace, in the embrace of another person before. He laid his head on hers and took a deep breath. Her hair was soft and smelled nice. Hugs from his mother were warm and safe, but always held the mysterious wisdom that mothers have acquired from age and experience. This, this was just pure empathy. She seemed to really care, and it didn't matter that she didn't have answers, because she was willing to just be there with him, not knowing what was wrong, but just that something was. Is this what it was like to have a true friend?

After some moments, ragged huffing could be heard nearing the tree from below. Michaela and Sully's heads shot up and they peered through the leaves in time to see Martha come into view. "Miss Michaela! Get down from there this minute! You are late for your lessons! You know how your mother feels about young ladies climbing trees…and with a young man, to boot! Come dear; let's hope you haven't ruined another dress. Come along!"

Michaela turned to Sully, biting her bottom lip as a hesitant smile spread over her face. "It was nice to meet you, Byron. Will you still be here tomorrow too? I'd-"

"Miss Michaela!" Martha's normally serene expression was replaced by an anxious one.

"Coming!" Michaela glanced once more at Sully and then began her careful descent toward the ground, trying to keep her dress from snagging on the branches.

"Mike?" Michaela looked above her to see Sully leaning down to peer through the leaves at her. "I'll be here," he assured quietly, with a tentative smile.

Michaela beamed. "Good night, Byron!" she whispered, before leaping nimbly to the grass and taking Martha's hand.

Sully climbed down quickly and watched as the two walked across the Common. Michaela had her face turned up to Martha, chattering happily, her hair shimmering as it moved with each step she took. He hoped she did come tomorrow. There was something about her that soothed his soul, that made him forget his loss and loneliness. He didn't fully understand it, but he needed to see her again.

Elizabeth Quinn was furious with Michaela for her tardiness, and her fury only heightened when she found a leaf in her tangled hair as she followed her daughter into the library where she completed her schoolwork. After an aggravating evening for both mother and daughter, Michaela found herself perched on the end of the massive mahogany desk in her father's office.

Running her fingers over the rich, smooth wood, Michaela's mind flitted back to Sully for the umpteenth time that day. "Father?"

Glancing up from his patient chart, something in Michaela's expression caught and held Josef's attention. Her eyes were unfocused, distanced, and her brow was creased in perplexity. "Yes, Mike?"

Still absently tracing the grain of the wood, she asked, "is it possible for a person to live nowhere?"

Not understanding where this question was leading, but knowing his youngest daughter's inquisitive mind, even at eleven years old, he made an attempt. "Well, there are certainly nomadic tribes throughout the world; groups of people who move from one place to another depending on the season and what they can find to eat…"

"Yes, but what about in Boston?"

Suddenly grasping the direction of her thoughts, and fully understanding her compassionate heart, he contemplated how to gently explain such a large problem to such a young girl. "Mike, there are people in our city who cannot afford to pay for a place to live, and so they sleep outside at night, or in a house owned by kind people who have dedicated their lives to helping those less fortunate. I suppose you could say that such people live nowhere…"

Michaela was now intently focused on her father's kind face, noting his pained expression at acknowledging the pain and brokenness the world possessed. Thinking of Sully, alone in the city, without a safe place to sleep, filled her eyes with tears, belying her anxious heart. What if something happened to him?

Josef did not miss the anguished concern in her expression. "…Mike, dear, did you see someone in the Common this afternoon? Is that why you were late for your tutoring sessions?"

Not quite sure if she should yet bring her new friend to her father's attention, Michaela blinked away her tears and shook her head. "I just heard something…and wondered. Thank you, Father."

Perplexed at the sudden resolution to their conversation, Josef decided to let it go. She would speak to him further, in time, if she needed to. He only nodded, and moved to embrace his daughter. "Alright, Little One, you should head to bed then, it's growing late and you must be at school in the morning."

Gently pulling down on his elbow to allow herself access to his cheek, she kissed him and whispered goodnight before heading up the winding staircase to her room.

Perched on her window seat in her nightdress, Michaela looked out toward the Common, wondering where Sully was, and if he was safe and warm. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would find him and make sure he was alright.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Michaela had thought of nothing but Sully throughout her day at school. She had sensed such immense sadness from him yesterday, sadness that she could feel but not begin to comprehend, yet she felt inexplicably connected to him, drawn to him. Why was he so sad? She began to wonder about his family, and why they couldn't afford to live anywhere. Why had she never seen him before in the Common? Her mind reeling with questions about Sully, she had difficulty concentrating on her work, and found herself dragging Martha again toward the Common as soon as she returned home that day.

Sully sat, leaning against the old oak where he'd met Michaela, impatiently wondering if she would really come again. Maybe she had been a dream. Maybe he had only imagined the perfect person showing up when he needed someone the most. Or maybe Martha wouldn't let her come back. He had not stopped thinking about her since she had left yesterday, a welcome relief from thoughts of his mother's death. Today was overcast; none of the cheerful sunlight of the previous day, but the air was still warm and moist on his skin.

Gradually, he noticed a dove grey dress and white pinafore emerging from the overcast horizon, with that same shimmery, coppery hair framing her face and shoulders. Her white lace collar softened the cool grey against her skin, the whole ensemble making her appear softer, more radiant, and her eyes and hair looked darker, glassier. Sully had always avoided girls – they were silly and too concerned with dresses and dancing and dolls – but this girl was different. There was something compelling about her, something in her eyes spoke to him, and something in her spirit was thoughtful and sincere.

Michaela nervously clenched the fingers of her right hand in the thick taffeta of her dress as she recognized Sully waiting for her under the tree. Her left hand still held her books securely, swinging lightly by her side, rustling against her dress. She hadn't even thought to leave them in the library before she accosted Martha. The older lady strolled contentedly behind her, enjoying the mild day. Michaela smiled when she could see that he was looking at her, and he smiled back. She noticed he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, or so it seemed, but he still looked neat and clean. She wondered innocently if they were the same clothes, or if all of his clothes just looked the same.

"Hey" he greeted her as she stopped a few feet in front of him.

She smiled. "Hello, Byron. I expected you to be in the tree." She giggled at herself.

"Didn't want ya to get in trouble again. You wanna sit, or walk around?" His blue eyes were emptied of the sadness of the day before, and instead communicated a tentative contentment with seeing his new friend.

"Um, let's walk. I've been sitting all day." She held out her hand to help him up, and he took it. Letting go and smiling at one another, they headed off down the Common on Michaela's favorite path, Martha lagging interestedly behind by several feet. Miss Michaela had a way about her, and often befriended new people, though often they were colleagues and friends of her father. This little boy was unique, and she wondered what compelled her little friend to reach out to him.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Sully broke in. "Have ya ever noticed that everything seems greener when it's cloudy like this?"

Smiling, Michaela nodded. "Yes, Father says it's because the sunlight is filtered through the clouds, so the leaves and grass don't reflect as much light but absorb it instead, making them seem darker, and greener."

Not fully understanding what she was talking about, but impressed with her intelligence, Sully simply stated, "Oh, well, I kinda like it. It feels nice, like ya can just take a deep breath and everything's gonna be okay."

"Mm-hm…" Sully's statement made Michaela wonder again about Sully's situation. "Byron, may I ask you a question?"

Not knowing what to expect, he gave his assent. "Sure."

He seemed curious to know what she wanted to say, and noting the welcome in his gaze, she ventured on. "Well, I was wondering, if you live nowhere, then where does your family sleep, and eat, and keep their things?"

Michaela had not removed her eyes from Sully's as she spoke, and she watched them cloud over before his chin dropped and he stopped walking, kicking at the loose stones on the path. "I don't know if I wanna talk about it, Mike…"

Noting his change in demeanor, Michaela stopped and faced him, poised to apologize for her over inquisitive mind intruding on his world. "Oh Byron, I-"

"I don't got a family, Mike. My pa died 'fore I can remember, my brother a few years back, and my ma-" His breath caught in his throat, and he choked back a sob. "-she passed on last year. Drowned in the Hudson in New York…" His voice lowered as he spoke, ending just over a whisper. "They put me in a orphanage, but it was bad, so I ran away, came to Boston to start over…"

Not knowing what to say, Michaela stepped forward and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his trembling torso and resting her chin on his shoulder, her head leaning against his. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Gradually, his arms came about her waist, and he relaxed his chin onto her shoulder, his head against hers. She was warm, and soft, and the feel of her combined with her sweet scent soothed him as it had yesterday. Laying his cheek on the soft white cotton of her apron strap, looking out toward the woods, he took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled, feeling a sense of peacefulness fill him.

He could have stayed that way forever, he thought, but when an older gentlemen walked past them casting a disapproving look in his direction, he straightened and began to pull away, offering Michaela a weak smile as they made eye contact again.

Seeing that he looked decidedly calmer, Michaela ventured out again. "Maybe you could stay with us for a while, I mean, if you aren't staying somewhere else…?" She kept her eyes focused ahead of them as they entered the wooded area, and turned to look at him only when he didn't respond right away.

He was looking straight ahead, his brow furrowed. He shook his head, and then said in a tone that proved his life experiences had made him far too mature for his age, "I'm not stayin' with no one, but I was thinkin' I'd get a job helpin' someone out so I could pay for a room, 'til I can save enough to head out west. They say there's lots of money in the mines."

Astonished, Michaela exclaimed, "But you're just a boy, you can't be much older than me! You should have a family, and go to school, and-"

"I'm eleven years old. That's old enough. That part of my life's over, Mike. I gotta move on. 'Sides, by the time I earn enough to get out there, I'll be old enough to make it on my own." His face was set, his expression distant, as if he were watching it all play out before him.

Michaela was growing desperate; his plan sounded so difficult and lonely. "But you could stay with us; we could be your family. Marjorie is the only one still at home with my mother and father and me, my other three sisters are married with their own families. But Marjorie is sixteen; she'll get married as soon as she is old enough, and then we would have each other. My father is wonderful, he's a doctor and he's so kind and understanding, he'd love to have you, and my mother, well, she can be bossy, but she is nice underneath. You could go to school, and we could be friends, and-"

"Mike-"

"No, Byron! You shouldn't be alone, and you shouldn't have to work like that just to live. It isn't fair, especially when you could stay with me! You're my best friend, Byron." They had long since stopped walking, and Michaela's olive and hazel eyes pleaded with him to listen, to relent. He could see she was worried, for him as well as herself. How could a girl like her not already have a best friend?

Speaking more softly now, so she would know he had heard her pleas, he tried to reason with her. "Mike, life ain't fair, I think I'm livin' proof of that, and you don't even know if your folks would want that. It's their choice; it ain't up to you."

"But we could at least ask, couldn't we?" Tears were beginning to fill her eyes, making them bright and shimmery, their colors more intense than before. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were a darker pink as she bit down on her lower one, a questioning look in her eyes. Neither of them were entirely certain why they cared so much, so deeply, when they had only met the day before, but why wasn't important. They did care, and that was enough to consume them both at the moment. "You could at least have supper with us and stay tonight, and then if they say no, well, we'll figure something out…"

He sighed, not believing it could work out, "I s'pose-"

"Good, then we should head back. Father should be home soon." Michaela grabbed his hand, and turned them toward home. Her hand was cool in his warm one, her hair swirling around her shoulders as she tugged on him and turned to ascertain that he was willingly following. She could tell he was thinking about something, but she kept going, not wanting to waste any time. Martha had to skip a little to keep up with the little girl's pace. Sully followed along silently, fascinated by this enchanting girl who out of nowhere cared so much for him. Anticipating what was to come, he nervously wondered what would become of him tonight. What if her family sent him away to an orphanage?


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Michaela was brimming with excitement. Not only would Sully now have a family, but she would now have a best friend. She knew Sully would never criticize her for her dreams as her mother did, never tease her as her sisters did, and she would have someone her age to confide in, to play with. Nearing the large brownstone, she slowed, considering the situation before her. She wasn't sure if her father was home, and had a feeling he was the only one she could win over. She made a quick decision.

"This is home, Byron." His eyes grew wide, despite Michaela's nonchalance, as he took in the large, expensive-looking house. "Let me take you around to the garden, and I'll see if Father is home yet." Martha chuckled to herself at Michaela's strategy, letting herself in the side door to begin dinner preparations. Pulling again on Sully's hand, she led him around the corner toward the back of the house, where the back porch gave way to expansive gardens. Leading him to an iron bench placed appealingly under a large weeping willow, Michaela cast him a warm, hopeful smile and gently squeezed his hand before disappearing inside the large house.

Treading through the darkened hallway, Michaela slipped into her Father's office. There he sat, in his leather wingback chair before the fire, dozing contentedly with an open medical journal across his chest. Michaela leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Father?" she whispered. "Father?" gently shaking him now.

"Hmmm? Mike?"

"Yes, it's me, Father. I need to ask you something. Are you awake?"

Laying the journal aside, Josef gently pulled the little girl into his lap. "I won't be able to hold you like this too much longer, Little One. You're growing up so quickly." Smiling in acknowledgement of his sentiment, she relaxed into his embrace, laying her cool smooth cheek against his warm bearded one. Once she grew out of his lap, she would stand by his side as a partner in his medical practice. Neither of them could wait.

"I love you, Father," she whispered.

"I love you, Mike. Now what was it you needed to ask me so badly?"

She leaned back so she could focus on his face, judging his mood. He was relaxed, content, and loving this intimate time with her. "Do you remember last night, when I asked you how someone could live nowhere?" He nodded, his face growing perplexed. "Well, my friend Byron, he's eleven years old too, he is all alone. His family died. Can he stay with us, Father? He is very nice, and well-behaved. I think Mother would like him, and then he can go to school, and have a family, people to love him and take care of him, and we ..."

Josef regarded his youngest daughter, the joy of his life. She was everything he could hope for: energetic, inquisitive, intelligent, passionate, stubborn, caring, sensitive. He had stopped listening, and was intently watching the passion flare in her countenance, her eyes ablaze and tear-filled, her cheeks flushed, her posture upright. His little girl had reached outside of herself to someone clearly less fortunate than herself, sharing their burden, bolstering their spirit. This was exactly who he wanted her to be.

"Father?" Josef jerked back to the present conversation, already knowing what his answer would be. How could he turn down her pleading eyes and compassionate heart, knowing that they fought for someone who clearly needed help?

"Yes, Mike. Where is this little boy?"

Eyes brightening further, if it were possible, and hope flooding her face, she exclaimed "His name is Byron, Father. I asked him to wait in the garden under the willow."

Lowering his little girl gently to the thick carpet, Josef stood. "Well, let me come meet Byron."

Sully had been waiting anxiously on the bench, wondering what he should do if someone came around and saw him there. The sky remained cloudy, and looking east, he could see darker clouds rolling in. The greens of the garden literally glowed around him, the bright red and pink roses standing out in stark contrast. A gentle breeze carried the aroma of roses and fresh grass to his nose, and he inhaled deeply. It felt so peaceful here under the willow, its branches falling down gracefully, swaying in the breeze, just above his head.

He looked up at the large brownstone towering above him. He'd seen houses this large, but had never been inside one. He couldn't believe Mike lived here. Her accent and clothing had hinted at wealth, but she was so warm, so accepting, so unlike any other rich people he had encountered in his lifetime. She hadn't even hesitated to embrace him as a friend. A slow smile spread across his face as he thought about her sweet, bright, crooked smile, her warm eyes, her happy giggle. She made the pain fade away, made him want to savor every moment of the rest of his life.

He was still grinning when Michaela and Josef emerged from the same door that she disappeared into earlier. His smile widened; apparently she made a habit of dragging people after her when she was on a mission. Josef was being pulled by his hand by his daughter, an indulgent smile on his face. He sure looked kind. He had crinkly, laughing eyes, smooth rosy cheeks, a soft looking nose and a neat peppery beard. He was very tall, but his waistcoat covered a smooth rounded belly that looked wonderful to hug. Sully stood, straightening his clothing as best he could.

Chuckling at Michaela's enthusiasm, Josef's smiling eyes moved to the sweet looking young boy before him. "And you must be Byron!"

Sully smiled timidly. "Yessir." Venturing to make eye contact with the tall man, his timid blue eyes met gentle, mirthful ones.

"And how are you, young man? Mike tells me you're all on your own?"

His words were kind and gentle, but Sully could not keep the tears from pushing out of his eyes. The pressure began to make his head ache. A nod of his now downcast head was all he could produce, as two tears began to trail down his cheeks.

Michaela, who had been squeezing Josef's hand, eagerly anticipating what she expected to be a happy resolution, released him and moved over to put an arm around Sully's shoulders. "It's alright, Byron." Her eyes were full of compassion, and they pleaded for him to look up at her.

Suddenly, he couldn't bear the attention at the humility of his circumstances, and raising his arms, broke himself from her embrace. "No! It ain't. I can't do this, Mike! I don't need help from no one! This ain't right to be askin' this Mike! It's too much!" He began to run from the garden in the direction from which they'd come, but didn't make it two steps before he was swept swiftly into Josef's warm, strong arms.

Sully squeezed his eyes shut, willing the familiar pressure in his forehead to go away, glad that it was a cloudy day. After a moment, he felt Josef sit on the bench under the tree, and Sully slumped his previously tense body into the older man's chest. Josef loosened, but did not relinquish, his hold, moving to smooth Sully's hair to the side of his sweaty forehead, and wipe away his tears.

Michaela stood stunned watching them, unsure why Sully had become so upset all of a sudden. Tears trickled over her cheeks, but she remained silent, unsure what to say, afraid of making the situation worse. Her hands were folded in front of her, her fingers tensely fidgeting, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her stance revealing her desire to join the embrace and her fear of hurting him at the same time.

"Mike, dear, please run inside and ask Martha for a tray of milk and cookies. See if she'll help you bring them outside."

Hesitating, not wanting to leave her friend, Michaela's eyes pleaded with her Father to let her stay. "Run along Sweetheart, Byron will be here when you return, and I'm sure we'd both be grateful for the refreshment." The gentleness of his words encouraged her, and she turned to walk quickly into the house, wanting to return to the garden as soon as possible. She found Martha preparing dinner in the kitchen, and under her supervision, prepared the refreshments with much tenderness and care, hoping her father would be able to change Sully's mind out in the garden. She couldn't understand why he grew so upset all of a sudden, and more than her feelings were hurt, her heart broke at his distress.

Sully slowly sat up in Josef's lap as Michaela retreated, watching his friend's lowered head and wishing he hadn't rejected her comforting words and touch. His head was now throbbing, the stress of the situation landing fully behind his eyes. He had stopped crying, and stared straight ahead into the garden. Josef's arms and lap were comfortable, safe, he thought, despite the fact that his headache was tormenting him almost as much as his grief.

Josef's voice startled Sully back to the present. "Now, Byron. Mike has told me a bit about your situation, and I must say I would love to offer you whatever help I can. My daughter has a generous, loving spirit, and clearly she has found you to be someone more than worthy of such affection. I can tell already that you dislike burdening others with your presence, but I must tell you, if you were to stay with us for a time, it would only bring us joy."

Sully looked up into the gentle eyes of his new friend, wide blue eyes betraying his surprise.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sully had been turned toward Josef's chest, his eyes absently focused where the buttons of his shirt ran down under those of his waistcoat. As the older man spoke, Sully's disbelieving eyes rose to Josef's face, surprised at the kind sincerity he found there. He was stunned that Josef was agreeing so easily, wondering if the throbbing in his head was causing him to hear things, so he remained silent.

Josef continued. "However, before we jump into things, I must ask you a few very important questions." Seeing that Sully was listening, he went on, taking care to speak sensitively. "What is your last name, lad?"

"Sully, sir," the timid boy whispered, then sniffed.

Josef nodded. "Do you have any other family, lad?" The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he dropped his head, shaking it once. "Alright then, is there anyone else who is looking for you? Someone who is supposed to be caring for you?"

Taking in a ragged breath, Sully's headache intensified. He was suddenly overcome with fear that Josef would send him back to the orphanage in New York. He contemplated lying, but instinctively knew things would be much worse if he was found out for such a falsehood later. Deciding to risk the truth, he glanced into Josef's eyes before beginning. "They sent me to a orphanage, but it was real dirty and there wasn't much t'eat, an' th'other boys all ganged up on me, an' the teachers didn't care what was goin' on, so I ran away. I don't know if they're lookin' for me, but I can't go back there, sir. If you feel you gotta send me back, you can, but I'll just leave again. I can't stay there; I'd rather be on my own an' hungry than live there."

It all came out quickly, but Josef could tell the boy was honest. He was quite aware that most orphanages were indeed rough places to grow up, and knew that one such as Sully described wouldn't be looking for the boy – they were probably glad to have one less mouth to feed and body to clothe. Lifting the boy's chin with his finger, he looked into bright blue eyes full of pain, fear, sorrow, and a tiny bit of hope. "Alright then, son. You'll be staying here for now. I'll have Martha freshen up a room for you next to Mike's, and tomorrow we'll go out and see to a fresh wardrobe. School is nearly over for the year, so you won't start now. We'll make sure you're ready to enter at the proper level for your age in the autumn. I'll expect you to call me Josef, not 'sir' or 'Dr. Quinn.' I do not care to stand on pretense, especially with my own family. How does all of that sound, Mr. Sully?"

His headache beginning to ease, and unable to keep a grateful, if not tentative, smile from his lips, Sully was opening his mouth to reply when he saw Michaela approaching from the house, carefully balancing a silver tray piled with cookies, a smooth silver pitcher, and three cut crystal glasses. The silver and glass against her grey dress and white pinafore gave her an ethereal appearance. Her soft eyes were wide with tentative curiosity, and her cheeks flushed with the effort of balancing the heavy laden tray all her own as she tread carefully through the soft green grass. Pausing just outside the umbrella of the willow, she spoke respectfully, "Father? Byron?"

Amusedly noting Sully's attention now fully captured by his daughter, Josef spoke first. "Mr. Sully and I have just come to an agreement, Mike." Turning back to Sully he continued, "Haven't we, Mr. Sully?"

Pulling grateful eyes away from his friend, he looked into Josef's. "Yes, sir- I mean, Josef. An' it's just Byron."

Josef twinklingly returned the boy's bashful grin, relieved that he had caught on and asked him to drop the formality. "Alright then, son. Mike, it looks like Byron is going to stay here with us for now!"

"Really! Oh, Father, thank you!" Overcome with relief and joy, Michaela set the tray down where she stood and leapt across her father's lap to embrace them both, her legs hanging behind her, toes several inches above the lush lawn.

Both men melted into her embrace, thoroughly in love with her loving enthusiasm.

"You cannot be serious, Josef! Taking a strange homeless boy into our home! Providence knows he could be a thief!" Elizabeth's soft features were hard and angry. She was a force to be reckoned with. It was enough that Josef was allowing, even encouraging, her youngest daughter to follow in his footsteps, and it was worse that he would invite a boy who clearly was below their social station to live in their home.

"Elizabeth, I think we both know that isn't the case. The poor child's just lost his mother and has no other family. He's heartbroken and alone in the world. Providing him with shelter, and education, and a family is the least we can do to-"

"The least we can do is sending him to an orphanage, where he belongs. This, I think you'll agree, is the most we can do, Josef." Despite the lower volume of her firm voice, Elizabeth was not relenting.

"He is a good boy. He is Mike's friend – her only true friend, might I add –" His wife scoffed, rolling her eyes, about to comment on his alienating her from other girls her age with dreams of practicing medicine, but Josef continued, " – and we have more than enough love and resources to go around. There is no reason we shouldn't share what we have, Elizabeth. I am putting my foot down. He will stay." Josef's voice was firm, matching hers, and his eyes bore the same strength into hers.

Michaela and Sully huddled together at the top of the stairs, four eyes focused intently on the door of her father's office. Their inside arms were tightly wrapped around one another, their outside hands holding tightly to the other. Turning her head, Michaela smiled weakly at Sully's expression, his lips parted and his eyebrows raised in concern.

"It'll be alright, Byron. Father already loves you, I can tell, and Mother just needs to see how wonderful you are. It'll be alright, you'll see."

Tearing his eyes away from the office door below them, her earnest gaze comforted him. "Ya think? I mean, I just feel like it's askin' so much, and your ma…"

"I do. And you have a home again Byron; it's going to be wonderful." She hugged him tightly.

"Byron? Mike? Shouldn't you two be in bed?" Watching them pull apart and look up at him guiltily, he wondered how much they had heard of the conversation that had ended with more questions than answers. Recognizing the pleading sympathy in his daughter's mismatched eyes, and the doubt in Sully's blue ones, he surmised they had heard quite enough. Suppressing a sigh, he took their hands and led them down the hall.

"I assure you two, everything will be alright. But a good night's sleep is imperative, if we're to get a good start in the morning."

Stopping in front of Michaela's room, Josef released Sully's hand and knelt down in front of his daughter, reaching out to caress her head. "I'm so proud of you, Mike. You have a heart as big as the world and I couldn't ask for more. I love you, Little One."

Grinning shyly, Michaela moved to embrace her beloved father. "I love you too, Father. Goodnight." She kissed his cheek. Releasing him, she turned to Sully. "Goodnight, Byron."

" 'Night." He offered a weak smile, doubt and anxiety building within his chest. Smiling reassuringly at him one more time, Michaela turned and slipped into her room.

Standing, Josef again took Sully's hand and led him into his new room, softly pulling the door closed behind them. Unsure what to do, not sure if he should climb into the large bed or if Josef would be expecting something else, he stood nervously in the middle of the room, his hands clutching the sides of the large white nightshirt Josef was lending him for the night. Smiling down at him, Josef wondered what they boy was thinking.

"Are you alright, lad?" He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, leading him gently to sit on the bed.

"Yessir- I mean, Josef." He gulped, knowing he shouldn't admit how much he heard.

Josef studied the little boy, still mulling over what Elizabeth had suggested, and knew he couldn't let Byron in on everything just yet. But he was clearly distraught, and for that a little comfort was certainly appropriate.

"Well, Byron, it's been a trying year for you, lad. I can hardly imagine what you've been through." Josef put his arm around him, and felt Byron tentatively relax against his shoulder. "I want you to know that from this day forward I'll see to it that you're taken care of by people who love you and want you. No more running, no more worrying. I don't want to ignore your loss, son, you certainly have the right to mourn, but I do hope you can be happy with your new family, and that you'll be willing to be a full member of it, with all the rights, responsibilities, and privileges that come with a loving home."

Sully nodded gratefully against the older man's shoulder, but something in his stomach tightened at Josef's words. He wasn't sure what it was, but something seemed different than earlier. And it made him nervous. Josef squeezed him then, and rose from the bed.

"Alright, then. I won't ask you to talk anymore tonight; it's been a long day. Get some rest, son, and we'll see you in the morning. Tomorrow is another day!"

Sully crawled under the covers, thinking he'd never felt linens so fine in his life. The dueling feelings of comfort and fear nagged at him, replacing old feelings of hopelessness and sadness. Surveying the fine furnishings of the guest room, he closed his eyes, praying, as always, for sleep to come quickly.

Just as Sully was wavering in the space between consciousness and hazy dreams, the sound of knocking brought him slowly back to reality. He sat up suddenly, realizing there was someone knocking on his door.

Large luminous eyes stared back at him when he opened the door, curiosity obvious in the young girl's expression. Michaela stood there in her nightdress, fingers knit together in characteristic fashion, hair tied up in what looked like a hundred knots all over her head, little bits of rag sticking out everywhere. He laughed a little – she looked funny.

"What?" she whispered, confused.

He shrugged. "Your hair looks kinda funny." She smiled bashfully, just now remembering the rags Martha had just finished tying in, and she giggled.

"I know," she whispered, "It's to make it curly." She giggled again, and then looked down the dark hallway to see if anyone heard her. "Um, I just wanted to see if you're alright." She relaxed when he nodded. "What did Father say to you?"

Sully shrugged a little, watching the moonlight from his window shift over her face. "Nothing much. Just how he's gonna take care of me, and we could talk more tomorrow." He felt excitement swell in his chest, pushing out the fear of a little while ago, at the prospect of staying here, of having a family, a friend, and such a kind man to take care of him. A man who could be sort of like a father to him, too, he hoped.

Seeing him smile to himself, Michaela felt herself relax. She'd been worried her father had told him something bad. "Good… Well, goodnight, Byron." She turned and padded down the hall, a light bounce in her step.

"'Night Mike" Sully whispered after her. She turned and waved, before quietly entering her room. Sully sighed, a smile growing on his face. Life was looking up, he thought, as he climbed back into bed.


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I know – this is later than I promised! I'm sorry… but as a reward for your patience, it's extra long! Happy reading!**

Chapter 5

Afternoon tea the next day found a smartly dressed Sully seated in the brightly sunlit drawing room with Josef, feeling extremely uncomfortable in his confining new suit. Michaela perched next to him, chattering excitedly about the new things she was learning from her science tutor with her father and his good friend, Dr. Nordheim, from New York. Elizabeth sat serenely sipping tea across the room, conversing quietly with Mrs. Nordheim, and Marjorie sat alone in the bay window, looking entirely bored with the present company. 

Sully brushed sweaty palms over his trouser legs, feeling the soft material of Michaela's lavender dress brush against the backs of his fingers. It was interesting to him, how she was all pretty and soft, and sweet and nice, but she was so smart, and there was a spark in her too, that surprised him. He wasn't really listening to their conversation. He watched her curls bounce as she talked. They had been so tight this morning, but now that it was midday, they had fallen out a lot, leaving big, loose waves and curls just at the end, bobbing happily with her movements. 

His observant gaze drifted to Dr. Nordheim. He looked older than Josef, his hair gone completely white. He had a distinguished, serious face, but there was a distinct spark in his eye that betrayed a kind, jovial nature. Wire rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, and his skin was smooth and slightly wrinkled around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He sat very straight and tall, but was smaller than Josef. He was totally engrossed in what Michaela was saying, and that impressed Sully. Most adults wouldn't care what a child had to say, especially a girl.

Mrs. Nordheim looked really nice. She was plump, and had rosy cheeks and cheerful, sparkling brown eyes. She had given Michaela a big hug when she arrived, and slipped them both small pieces of licorice.She smelled like licorice too, and Sully wondered if she must eat a lot of it to make her smell like that. It was nice though, the way she smelled; there was something comforting about it.

Josef cleared his throat, garnering Sully's attention away from his observations. He hadn't noticed that Michaela had stopped talking, and was now looking expectantly, admiringly, at her father.

"Well, the afternoon is passing us by, and there is something Dr. Nordheim and I wish to discuss with you, Byron." He felt all eyes turn to him for a moment, before they returned their attention to Josef. Marjorie sighed, annoyed, and he saw her lean her head against the window in his peripheral vision. Sully felt his stomach knot up, and the headache began to rise up behind his eyes a little. "Dr. Nordheim and I have known one another for many years, and he has been a dear friend and mentor to me. We write to one another often, and try to see each other once each year, when our schedules permit the travel between Boston and New York."

Sully nodded carefully, wondering where this was going. Michaela was listening intently, unmoving, as if she, too, sensed something was about to happen. She was biting her bottom lip like she always seemed to do when she was waiting for something, and her fingers were clenched together within the folds of her skirt. 

"Long ago, Dr. and Mrs. Nordheim had a daughter, Byron, and she died from polio when she was only five years old. It was incredibly heartbreaking, as you can imagine." Sully grew intensely nervous, and tears formed in his eyes, but he nodded. "They are no strangers to loss." Josef was watching Sully intently, and knew the boy was trying valiantly to keep his emotions in check. He was so strong for one so young.

"This morning, when I stopped by the hospital, I saw Dr. Nordheim and told him about you—" Dr. Nordheim's hand on Josef's arm interrupted him.

"I can take it from here, Josef." Josef nodded, and Dr. Nordheim continued slowly, gently. "Byron, Josie and I have wanted to love and raise a child all of our lives, and we've barely had the opportunity." Dr. Nordheim looked down and politely cleared his throat, and Sully wondered if it was just scratchy or if he was trying not to cry. Looking up again, he continued, "We've often considered adopting, but never have I felt as drawn to a child as I have to you, even before I'd even met you as Josef told me your story this morning." His eyes shone soft and bright through the serious lines of his face. "Josie and I have spoken, and we wonder how you'd feel about coming to live with us, in New York."

Sully heard Michaela gasp reflexively next to him, and saw her turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Without looking at her, he could see the anxiety on her face. She didn't want him to go. Still, there was something about this that felt right. He couldn't understand it, and didn't know if he really even wanted it, but he couldn't deny the feeling of peace that pervaded him when he thought of living with them in New York.

Seeing that the young boy was considering it, Dr. Nordheim continued. "We'll offer you everything we possibly can, son, and support you in whatever you'll want to do when you grow up. You'll have the same opportunities there that you would here. And we live just outside of the city, on a large piece of land where you can run and play. There is even a small lake for fishing or swimming in the summer. We'd be blessed to have you, to care for you, Byron, and we hope that we could be a blessing to you, too. It would make us so happy if we could give you a good, happy life." Mrs. Nordheim smiled warmly, her face in soft contrast to Elizabeth's stoic one, making Sully instinctively want to hug her. 

Sully smiled tentatively, trying to think clearly despite his raging nerves. Whether he went with them or not, he liked them, and he wanted to spend time with them. He looked at Michaela, who was staring at him, eyes large with knowing fear. He liked her so much, and wanted to stay with her, too. Looking at her, it was obvious she knew his heart. She knew it was over; he could tell. He swallowed dryly, and looked back to the kind old doctor.

"What about Mike? She's my best friend." Vaguely, he heard Elizabeth scoff quietly. 

Dr. Nordheim's gaze shifted to Josef, knowing this suggestion would require his approval. "Well," he spoke carefully, his eyes not moving from Josef's, "perhaps they could be penpals, writing often during the school year… and they could accompany one or the other of us when we see each other in the summers?"

Blatantly ignoring Elizabeth's demanding stare, Josef nodded in agreement, winking discreetly in Michaela's direction. "I don't see a problem with that, Johann." He turned to Sully. "Byron, what if you give it a try, say, for a few weeks. Then, we can get back together, and reconsider if necessary."

He didn't want to move away from Michaela, but he couldn't deny the instinctive need to go with them. It was a call he felt deep in his heart, but couldn't explain, even to himself. He nodded, giving his silent consent, and watched Michaela flee from the room in tears. 

Sully's trial period at the Nordheim's estate just outside the city of New York bled quickly into four very happy weeks for the new little family of three. There had been no need to revisit the issue with the Quinns; Sully had felt instantly at home on the large, mostly untouched, piece of land. While the Nordheim's showed no signs of want, they also chose to do most things for themselves, much unlike the Quinns. Josie loved to cook and cheerfully prepared all of their meals, pulling fresh fruits, vegetables, and herbs from her ample gardens. Often, she would include young Sully in her picking, showing him how to care for and pick each item. He was pleased to see such abundant produce in its natural habitat, and never had he felt better than now that he was eating these fresh foods.

Josie took great delight in Sully's quiet, attentive nature, and taught him to make biscuits and shortbread cookies while telling him stories of their early life in Scandinavia, marrying at seventeen and moving to America in search of opportunity. Johann studied medicine, and they found this home, buying the land around it piece by piece as their resources grew. Their mutual sense of personal responsibility wouldn't let them hire out help, but they would from time to time exchange food and lodging for chores from families in need. Josie was an avid story teller, and Sully relished mornings spent in the reading nook of the sitting room after chores and breakfast, listening to Josie's tales with a very grownup cup of coffee, which might have been more accurately described as milk and sugar with a little coffee in it.

Johann executed all the chores on the estate, excepting a few for which he paid local families to assist him due to his sometimes demanding physician's schedule. Immediately, he taught Sully to milk the cows and gather eggs, and promised him that as he gained skill, his responsibilities would increase accordingly. Johann was indeed a stoic man with high expectations for Sully, but he also allowed Sully the instruction and encouragement necessary to inspire the boy to exceed Johann's expectations. Sully was content to accomplish one challenge after another, and was quickly increasing his assigned chores.

Despite Johann's stiff expectations and stoic nature, he had a warm spot in his heart for Sully, and took great pains to show him the attention and affection he knew the boy needed. His eyes often twinkled with approval, and his firm handshake was enough to communicate to Sully that a mutual respect had been built there.

Sully thought about Michaela and her family often, but tried hard not to think about her too much. She had struck a cord in his heart, though, and she had already become an unconsciously assumed piece of his future. He knew it was a great privilege to be able to write her as often as he wanted, and knowing they would have the summers together appeased his disappointment that Boston and New York were so far away from each other.

One afternoon, too hot to do anything but think about the heat, Sully made his way to a shady spot under a large sycamore tree by the Nordheims' lake. It was a sweltering day, hot, humid air smothering him everywhere he went. It wasn't much different inside the house than it was outside. Here, in the shade by the lake, he could find a little breeze from time to time. And, because he was alone, he could just take off his shirt if he needed to, or strip down all the way and go swimming. It was nice to have that kind of freedom.

He really liked it here. He hadn't known there was any place so nice so close to the oppressing city, and the Nordheims were really good to him, even though they expected a lot. When Johann had discovered him curled up in bed in the middle of the day the first weekend of his new life with them, he had told him about his headaches, and the old doctor was helping them go away. Sully was also beginning to discover they didn't come so much now that he wasn't worried all the time, and also when he could be outside enjoying nature, like this. It was just so relaxing to get away from people sometimes. People made him remember his problems, but out here, there was peace. 

He settled into the fine brush of long, dry grasses under the huge old tree, looking up for a minute at the sun shining through the leaves. He thought of the day he met Mike, in the old chestnut oak on Boston Common, and her eyes, green the color of the leaves and brown like the branches. He thought he would probably always think of her every time he saw a tree. That was a lot, he knew, but it was already true, and he couldn't imagine it changing. He sighed, feeling the hot, heavy air seep into his lungs with more effort than should be necessary, and pulled out the stationary Josie had given him to start a letter to Michaela.

June 15, 1841

Dear Mike,

I'm sorry I moved away. You are my best friend and I miss you. I hope you are having a good summer. Johann and Josie are real nice. The estate is a lot of fun too. There's lots to do outside. There's a lake and lots of fields and woods. I even found a meadow where all these blue flowers grow at the edge of the woods. Johann calls them Virginia Spiderwort and they grow wild here.They are so blue they look like they can't be real, but they are. Josie cooks for us and it is so good. I am going to a all boys school in September. I have to wear a uniform. Yuck.I haven't been to school for a while, so I hope I'm not too far behind. Does your pa read you poetry? Johann does it instead of stories before bed. I like it. Josie keeps a big jar of licorice in the kitchen. I think that's why she smells so good all the time. I get to have one when I do something good. I still miss my ma, but it ain't so bad anymore. Johann is teaching me lots of neat stuff about fishing and nature and science. He's a real good man. Like my Ma used to say my Pa was. Kind of like Josef teaches you so much. Well, I will talk to you later. Write back soon. 

Your friend,

Byron


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Michaela could barely contain her excitement when her father gave her the letter from Sully. She had been moping around the house and garden, unable to focus on anything in particular. Even the diagrams in her father's medical texts held little interest for her lately. She had only had Sully in her life for a week before he moved, but it had changed everything. Nothing held the same interest it had before, now that she couldn't discover or share it with Sully.

Envelope in hand, she ran out to the garden, past the old iron bench to sit at the base of the willow's broad trunk. There was a niche in it that curved just right to support her little back. She knew her mother would be furious to find her sitting here in the mulch, but she didn't care at the moment. This was her special spot. It was peaceful here, and the willow provided wonderful reprieve from the summer heat. 

Settling herself and quickly, but neatly, opening the envelope, sheremoved the paper inside. A pressed bluish purple flower fell out, and she marveled at its pure color, almost as if it had been dyed indigo. It smelled fresh still. Carefully she placed it beside her on the ground, planning already to keep it between the pages of her treasured volume of _Frankenstein_, given to her by her father for her birthday. Returning to the letter, she read it eagerly, trying to picture in her mind the things he described on paper. She felt happy and sad and lonely, all at once. Glancing around the garden, the bright greens, reds, and pinks of the flowers blurred with tears. She didn't know how to reconcile her joy over Sully's happiness with her sadness that he'd moved away. Sniffing, she rose from her garden haven to sit at her desk in her room. She needed to write him immediately.

July 5, 1841

Dear Byron,

You are my best friend too! I am so glad we met. Thank you for the beautiful Virginia Spiderwort. I will keep it always. I am glad you are happy but I wish the Nordheims lived in Boston, or we lived in New York. Father reads poetry sometimes, but it usually doesn't make sense to me. I'm glad you like it though. Have you ever read _Frankenstein_? It's my favorite because it is about a doctor who created life out of death. I'm glad you are feeling better about your mother. I don't want you to be sad. Father says when we lose a loved one they live on in our hearts. Maybe that will make you feel closer to her. Yesterday was Independence Day and Father took me and Marjorie to watch the fireworks over the Bay. Marjorie thought it was boring but we thought it was beautiful. Father bought us roasted corn from a street vendor! It was so fun. Summer has been boring. I miss school and learning new things. Has Dr. Nordheim mentioned if you will visit soon? I miss you. Father says he is too busy to go to New York right now. A lot of people are sick because of the heat. I hope we can see each other again soon.

Your friend,

Mike

Their letters continued in much the same manner between Boston and New York through the stifling heat of summer, the bright foliage and cooling rain of fall, and into the frozen cold of winter. For each, anticipation of the next letter propelled them forward, and kept their spirits high. Each letter was a thrill, and much excitement and longing filled each moment they spent writing to one another, sharing their thoughts and experiences. And as time passed, their friendship grew. Children their age rarely exchanged letters in this manner, and they cherished the privilege with enthusiasm and reverence.

Soon Christmas was near, and drifts of snow softened the edges and angles of the New England architecture, sparkling like crystal and silver in the winter sun. Twinkling candles glowed from every window in the evenings, and garlands and wreaths adorned doors and eaves, transforming Beacon Hill into a warm, magical place for a spritely Michaela. Each evening she was allowed to light the candle in her own bedroom window, and tear a paper link from the chain she'd hung above her bed in countdown for Christmas day. Josef permitted Michaela to send Sully a Christmas gift of Audubon's _Birds of America_, one she picked out herself because he was so enthusiastic about everything Dr. Nordheim taught him about the outdoors, along with a new, blank journal to record his observations and reflections. On their way to the hospital one day early in December, Josef escorted his little girl to the post office so that she might post the package to New York herself. The remainder of their trip to the hospital that morning was dominated by Michaela's questions about the inner workings of the postal service, her curiosity flaring with each new experience. 

Wholly unaware of Michaela's gift to him, Sully accompanied Josie into the city one day to find a gift for Michaela. The city was overwhelming to him now, several months away from the constant and oppressive hustle and bustle making him unused to the intensity of city life. This part of the city was much nicer than where he was from, as the sparkling shops and streetlights, garlands of cedar and fir, and rustling silks and velvets of ladies' dresses constructed a whole new experience for him, somehow more overwhelming than his previous one because of its stark unfamiliarity. He followed Josie around the streets obediently, his mouth gaping open at the new sights, sounds, and smells. Josie suggested several pretty little things for Michaela: soaps, or silken ribbons, or combs, or little fragrant sachets, but Sully wasn't interested in those. Michaela was pretty, but she didn't find as much pleasure in those things as most girls might. No, he was determined to find something that really fit her, something she would love. He wanted to be sure her eyes would light up just as he remembered them when she was particularly excited about something, evidence that it truly pleased her. 

Finally, they entered a book store, where he was overwhelmed with choices. He wished he could get them all for her, knowing she would be delighted with the fount of knowledge contained in all these volumes. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine her response if he gave her a whole library for Christmas – how she would pull a hundred books off the shelves and pile them around her on the floor so you could only see the top of her head, bent over three books at once, never quite able to focus on one for very long because they were all so fascinating. 

Instead, Josie helped him select a beautifully illustrated copy of The Swiss Family Robinson. He just knew she would want to be a Robinson herself, totally immersed in the adventure of it. The shopkeeper gave him a special bookplate to glue to the inside cover, on which he could write her name, a short note, and his own name. Smiling indulgently at the boy, the shopkeeper then wrapped it beautifully in fine red paper and green silk ribbon, which thrilled Sully all the more. He only wished he could see her open it! It was again carefully wrapped to be posted to Boston, along with Sully's Christmas letter to Michaela with an additional surprise. 

Their shopping done, Josie took little Sully in to be fitted for his Christmas suit, complete with blue velvet jacket and new black shoes with bright silver buckles. Sully thought it was ridiculous, but Josie insisted, saying he would need a good dress suit for their traditional Christmas festivities. 

On Christmas day, an exuberant Michaela sprang from her bed as soon as dawn brightened the snowy landscape below her window. Rushing in robe and slippers to her parents' room, she flung open the doors and ran to her father's side of the bed. It was the only day of the year she was permitted to enter her parents' room uninvited, and she seized the opportunity with gusto, jumping on his chest and heralding the happy holiday with hugs and kisses. 

A little while later she sat on her knees before a warm fire, several opened boxes surrounding her, her treasured volume from Sully clutched to her chest, trying to decide just which words to use to thank him in her next letter. It was perfect, and she couldn't wait to read it. After breakfast she spent the day, book in hand, sitting before the fire next to the Christmas tree, entirely immersed in the East Indies. 

Even better than the book, though, was the letter accompanying it: an invitation to spend the summer in New York with the Nordheims. Elizabeth was hesitant, but acquiesced when Josef proposed they all go for the first and last week of Michaela's visit, providing them all some reprieve from the busy, stifling heat and constant nag of responsibility in the city. A cheerful holiday full of warmth, sweet treats, and age-old family traditions ended with a giddy Michaela curled in her window seat in her nightdress, pen to paper, describing to Sully the day's events and her grateful and eager acceptance of their invitation. 

Sully, much like Michaela, was thrilled with his gift from her, which outshone all his others. Johann and Josie were hard-pressed to tear him away from the window where he'd perched to watch for winter birds, when it came time to share their Christmas meal. 

At supper he silently prayed Michaela would be allowed to come this summer, and opening his eyes, found himself overwhelmingly grateful for the kind, generous hearts which had given him such a wonderful home. In six months time, he had grown to love Johann dearly and admire him greatly. He was a strict man who believed in hard work, deep personal responsibility for one's thoughts and actions, and thoughtful reflection upon the experiences given to one in life, and Sully had quickly adopted these values as his own. He loved and missed his family deeply, but the bitterness, anger, and hopelessness he had begun to feel before he met Michaela were slowly melting away, to be replaced by well-placed fond sentiments of a family who had started him out in the world, laying the foundation for his character, and who in their leaving had left wide open the opportunities by which he met Michaela and then this, his new family in Josie and Johann. Smiling at them over a warm Christmas pudding, he found he could only be grateful for all life had granted him. 


	8. Chapter 7

**Well, I was surprised to be without internet for a full week while on vacation! Had I known this, I would have posted a day early. Instead, we have a chapter today, one Friday, and then again on Wednesday! This will get us caught up and hopefully help you forgive me for disappearing on you!**

**My apologies to those of you who have been waiting on me, patiently or otherwise :) Enjoy!**

Chapter 7

Sully awoke early on the balmy day in June the Quinns were due to arrive, determined to complete his chores and bathe well before they pulled up to the house, just in case they were early. Over time Johann had increased Sully's responsibilities, and by now, a year into his life with the Nordheim's, the household could not run smoothly if he didn't complete his tasks. This made him feel needed and secure in his role in the family, an outcome Johann had intended as he assigned the boy purposefully increasing responsibilities. Sully was maturing quickly, taking responsibility for himself and his foster parents, demonstrating that he was quite self-motivated for a boy his age. It took very little nudging from Johann and Josie for little Sully to complete his daily chores, and he had always been on top of his homework as well, despite his devotion to the outdoors and to writing to Michaela.

At twelve years old, Sully was lean and wiry, having lost for good any remnants of childish roundness he may have displayed a year ago. Already this year he had spent significant time out of doors, and his skin reflected such in its golden tone. Because it was summer and the school session had ended, Josie had not pressed him to let her cut his hair for some time, and light brown hair that had been wavy a month before now bounced around his head in a halo of round sun-burnished curls. 

Entering the kitchen, blue eyes alight with excitement and arms laden with milk and eggs, Sully happened upon Johann just as he was kissing his wife good morning. It wasn't the first time Sully had caught them exchanging small signs of affection, and it made him feel good to know they were so comfortably in love. They showed no embarrassment as they broke apart to bid him good morning, and he reveled in the family hug they shared. This was what he wanted his family to be someday, and he hoped he could be as good as Johann was to his wife and kids. 

"Well," Johann's strong voice broke into his thoughts, "You're up earlier than normal. Excited, are we?" There was a gleam in Johann's eye despite his stoic expression, and Sully smiled as he began to move about the kitchen, gathering flatware and dishes with which to set the table.

"Yep."He dumped two handfuls of knives, forks, and spoons on the table, silver gleaming in the morning sun as he formed three place settings around the table. "Is there anything else I need to do 'fore they come?"

Josie smiled to herself as she stood over the stove, glancing briefly at Johann who was settling himself with the newspaper at the cheerful breakfast table. Josie shook her head indulgently at Sully. "No, Byron, just bathe as you planned. If you have extra time, I might benefit from some help with the flower arrangements. Everything else is ready for our company."

The family settled at the table, giving thanks for the blessings of family, friends, and nourishment, and the older couple enjoyed Sully's rarely displayed enthusiasm at his friend's impending arrival. The next hours both flew and crawled by, concluding with a pacing Sully wearing down the floorboards in the foyer. It had been decided that the Quinns would hire a carriage for the time they were in New York, as their number would override the seats available in the Nordheim's own carriage, in the case they would all ride to the shore or into the country.

Hearing wheels crunch on the gravel drive before the Nordheim's estate, Sully flung open the front door and rushed onto the porch, pausing to watch the carriage pull up in front of him. There was Josef, friendly, dancing eyes framed by his salt and pepper beard, and Elizabeth, sitting straight and tall and looking decidedly uncomfortable, Marjorie, perturbed as always, and then leaning forward to peek past Marjorie, was Michaela, eyes shining, bottom lip characteristically between her teeth as she tried to contain her huge smile, arm waving an enthusiastic but silent greeting.

Sully rushed up to the carriage to help everyone down, exchanging greetings and welcoming them as he went. Josef gave him a warm hug and pat on the shoulder, commenting on his growth and apparent god health. Elizabeth nodded cordially, her eyes showing slight disapproval of his longish hair, and then looking toward the house as Josie and Johann emerged to greet their guests.

Before he knew it, he was eye to eye with his best friend. She was wearing a cornflower blue traveling suit, the sides of her hair pulled up beneath a stylish felt hat, the rest of her hair flowing down her back in free waves, as if defying the formality of her attire. Her face was alight with joy and excitement, and she looked barely different than he remembered her, except for the absence of the white pinafore.

"Hey, Mike," he said, suddenly a little unsure of where to start, and where they stood. A year suddenly seemed like a very long time, and the week they had spent together suddenly felt very short.

"Hello, Byron," she beamed. "Oh, I missed you so much!" Her voice rose as she expressed her excitement, and his discomfort eased a little.

He was about to hug her, when she held out her hand to greet him formally. She saw his hesitation, and rolled her eyes toward her mother, her lip again caught between her teeth, though unable to conceal her wry grin. In a barely audible whisper, she said, "Mother says it's only proper to shake hands." Her eyes were glowing with mirth, and he felt instantly as if they had never been apart, fears of a moment ago dissipating immediately. He chuckled a little, and squeezed her fingers, feeling hers squeeze his in return. 

An hour later, Josef, Elizabeth, and Marjorie were settling down to tea with Johann and Josie in the sitting room, while Michaela and Sully were given permission to escape to the outdoors. Before anything else, he needed to show her his world. 

Sully strode leisurely through the garden and lawn, pointing out interesting flowers and shrubs as he went. He'd shucked his jacket and vest in the mudroom on the way out the door, knowing the heat outdoors would be unbearable in all those layers. Michaela followed behind him, trying to take in everything he was telling her, asking questions when he paused long enough to let her catch up. Having quickly changed into a light blue cotton day dress, she felt a freedom she was unused to as she ventured with Sully into the untamed outdoors beyond the lovingly kept English garden.

Beyond the lush green lawn, long grasses strewn with white and yellow wildflowers eased down a gentle slope to the lake, which was bordered thickly by a dense group of trees on the opposite side. The lake appeared to curve around the trees to the right, before it swung sharply around and back toward the house. 

Sully was now leading her to the left, through the vividly green, calf-deep grasses. His stride didn't slow, nor did he look back, his attention entirely focused on what he was showing her. Occasionally he would point to a bird or a butterfly, or identify a tree as they passed. He was so excited to share this place with her, this place where he came to write to her, to explore, and where he always thought of her, always saw her in the trees.

Michaela was struggling along behind him, finding difficulty with the uneven ground, but determined to keep up with him. She had stopped asking questions long ago, and was now barely able to see what he was showing her as she focused on her steps, trying to keep up.

Glancing up quickly to assure she was still following Sully's path, she almost bumped into him as he stood, facing her, an impish grin on his face.

"What?"

He let out a quiet, monosyllabic chuckle, shaking his head. "Nothin'." 

Growing flustered, and already slightly frustrated because of the difficulty of the unfamiliar terrain, Michaela huffed out a short breath, her hands coming up to her hips. "That's not true. Why are you laughing at me?" Her tone was defensive, but also slightly hurt.

Sully responded with sincerity in his voice, not wanting to upset her. "I'm not laughin'… but you could've told me you were havin' a hard time keepin' up." His eyes were soft now, really hoping she wouldn't be mad at him.

"I was doing just fine, thank you!" At that she drew up her skirts and stormed past him, but he caught her arm as she brushed by and she swung around, eyes blazing.

"Hey, I'm sorry." He held on to her arm, watching her gaze shift away, her brow furrowed in frustration. He tried again. "Mike, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. You were doing really good, keepin' up with me." He paused, watching for her reaction. She didn't move. "Just didn't realize I was walkin' so fast," he added. She held fast, refusing to look at him. "Mike, come on, I'm sorry, I really am. I don't want you to feel bad."

Suddenly Michaela felt silly, and her lips turned up at the corner. Shaking her head, she looked at him, their eyes level, and bit her lip, laughing a little. Sully relaxed a little, but still wasn't sure what she was thinking. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, not quite sure what had happened, but glad she didn't seem to be mad anymore. Her soft hair against his cheek was warm from the sun, and smelled fresh and sweet, like he remembered. Her dress, just lightweight cotton, felt so soft under his palms – everything about her was soft and… and nice. What was it about her that was so appealing to him? Pulling away, they smiled at one another, both pairs of eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

"I really did miss you Byron." He smiled, about to reciprocate, but she began speaking again before he could. "I'm sorry I was upset. I just want to do everything you can do…" her voice trailed off, her vivid eyes searching his for signs that he might be internally condescending her.

He chuckled again, not at her, but at their silly argument. "You can, Mike. Doesn't mean I shouldn't be considerate of you though. I had to get used to walking around out here too, you know." His smile was genuine, his eyes a deep, warm blue, and she instantly felt better. The pent-up anticipation of a year apart and anxiety over their reunion dissipated into the simple pleasure of being together, which began to suffuse their hearts and minds. Seeing the familiar warm, crooked smile bloom on her face, he took her hand and pulled her behind him. "Come on, it's over here."


	9. Chapter 8

Hmmm, a long chapter, but I anticipate know complaints there

Happy Weekend! You'll hear from me again on Wednesday…

Chapter 8

Pushing through the dense trees, Sully led Michaela out onto a small bit of open shoreline. Had the lake been a sea this might have been called a bay, the way the small bit of water curved in at that spot to create a secluded, quiet pool. If they looked through the trees to the right, they could just see the house, but as it was, they could see nothing but a bright, sparkling, deep blue lake and lovely summer foliage. Surveying the area, Michaela noticed several large clumps of deep blue flowers bordering the woods from which they'd emerged, and thought those must have been the spiderwort Sully had sent her in that first letter.

"What do you think?"

"I think it's lovely Byron. Do you come here often?" Michaela turned to see Sully headed toward the water, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his narrow, tanned back and shoulders.

"Byron! What are you doing?" She turned away from him quickly, hearing her mother's stern voice in her head declaring the impropriety of seeing a young boy in any state of undress, let alone shirtless!

She heard him laugh, and then water splashing. "Goin' swimming. You gonna join me?"

She kept her back turned, completely mortified and uncomfortable. "I can't, Byron, I don't have my bathing costume with me." She peeked over her shoulder, and jerked her head forward again when she saw him emerging from the water. She heard his steps stop just behind her and waited, unsure of what he was doing.

"You don't need a bathing costume, Mike. It's just me. You can go in your dress or your…" he paused, unsure what to call them, and then gestured, even though her back was to him "your underthings."

She shook her head adamantly. "That wouldn't be proper, Byron. I can't."

"Sure you can, Mike. There's nothing wrong with swimmin' and we'll dry out before we go back. You think the Swiss Family Robinson had bathing costumes?" She didn't move, but he could sense that she was considering it. "Come on, it's hot out, and the water's cool." He touched her sleeve. "Come on, it's ok."

Michaela didn't move. She was contemplating his reasoning, and not sure he was entirely correct. Still, they were best friends, and essentially children, so there was nothing scandalous to see. Still, the only male who had ever seen her in her undergarments was her father, and that had been years ago. Something about it seemed too revealing. She sighed. There was no real exposure. What was the harm?

"Mike? Are you comin'?"

She glanced back again, seeing he was still there, still shirtless. "What if Mother finds out?"

"No reason to. Look, forget it Mike, we don't have to. We'll just go sit in the shade or something." Sully turned to grab his shirt from the limb upon which he'd thrown it, searching out his shoes in the tall grass.

Michaela turned her head slightly to the side, seeing only Sully's blurred image in her peripheral vision. She took a deep breath, trying to build the courage to break a convention already intricately woven into the fabric of her young mind. The water looked so tempting, it really was very hot out, and she wanted to have fun as Sully was. "Wait, I'll come. Just… turn your back. Don't look." Somehow, the idea of him watching her undress was worse than seeing her in her underclothes.

"You sure, Mike?"

"Yes, just turn around." She insisted, and shortly thereafter she heard him drop his shoes and move away from her, back toward the lake.

"Alright. I'll be swimmin'!" And he took a running leap into the cool water, diving down and coming up splashing.

Glancing over her shoulder, Michaela quickly undressed, now grateful for the thick cotton camisole and pantaloons her mother had insisted upon beneath her traveling suit this morning. She covered her petticoats with her dress, stuffed her stockings into her boots, and set them next to her clothes. Quickly, she braided her hair and pinned it up, so it wouldn't get wet, said a short prayer that her mother would never find out, and turned to join Sully in the water.

Sully smiled watching her enter the water, tentatively wading in a little at a time. She was thin and straight, nothing like Carrie at church who was a month older than him and had filled out a lot already. All the boys were sweet on her, and he supposed he was too. It was strange, though. He could never tell Carrie all the things he'd told Mike last summer and in their letters, but he couldn't imagine touching or kissing Michaela like the other boys talked about doing with Carrie. He didn't know what the big deal was about kissing and touching anyway. He was curious because his friends talked about it, but given the choice, he wouldn't think twice about choosing Michaela to spend all his time with, just talking and exploring.

He laughedas she splashed him and swam backwards a little, moving her slender white arms around in the water, humming to herself. He splashed her back, racing after her in the water, trying to grab her ankle. She spun away, squealing, and splashed him again with all her might. Moving behind her, he picked her up a little and threw her into the water, trying to dunk her. She maneuvered away, though, desperate to keep her hair dry, splashing him some more. Both were laughing and gasping for air, relishing the happiness, the togetherness, the cool water, and the gleaming sun. No, Sully thought, Carrie was nothing. Michaela was all fire and light, and he'd spend every day of his whole life with her if he could, just so he could bask in it. 

An hour later, the two sat in the shade beneath a huge sycamore at the edge of the lake, still hidden from view of the estate. True to Sully's word, their clothes had dried quickly, though Michaela has insisted he keep his back turned until she could dress again, not sure exactly why she was so mortified since she was still technically covered, but mortified all the same. Sully obliged, and for a while, they sat leaning against opposite sides of the trunk, their conversation barely interrupted by their positions facing away from one another.

Michaela told of her year and the things she had learned at school, and Sully of the Nordheims and his adventures with Johann. School held little interest for him, and while he got along with the boys at school, he hadn't developed close friendships. He didn't feel this as loss, however, for he had found a confidante in Michaela through their letters, which freed him to enjoy the casual friendships he did develop with the other boys.

Sitting together again looking out over the lake, their conversation drifted to their dreams for the future – their shared heart's desires to give people better lives, Michaela helping the sick poor alongside her father, and Sully to start a different kind of orphanage, to give boys and girls like him a home, a family, and to teach them about nature, for he had found refuge there himself. They talked of being friends forever, and of Michaela coming to help Sully when a child was ill, or had hurt themselves. And she would send children to his home when their parents died, so they could have a safe place to be rather than a dark and cold orphanage in Boston. Their dreams went on, winding around them and up into the summer sky, and childlike as their dreams were, shaping their hearts for the future.

Though the day was hot and the air heavy with humidity, the two were reluctant to return to the house for supper that evening. Stepping through the grasses together, they walked in silence, watching the bird dip over the lake in the golden twilight. Sully looked over, seeing Michaela's coppery hair flaming in the glowing light, her face fixed in concentration as she navigated the terrain, softened by wisps of hair tackling her face in the light breeze, lip as always caught in her teeth. She looked up to find him smiling at her, eyes navy blue and sparkling in the odd light, sun-burnished hair glowing gold on his head. Eyes meeting, they smiled at one another excitedly. This was going to be a great summer.

Sully entered the garden, and quietly approached Elizabeth, who was sitting silently on a bench under the shade of a huge lattice of flowering purple lobelia, his right arm behind his back. He took a deep breath, hoping he could accomplish his mission.

The Quinns were leaving in two days, all except Michaela, and he sensed Elizabeth still didn't approve of him. But despite her rigid and formal exterior, he could tell there was something warm and loving in her heart, and something made him want to connect with her, to gain her approval. He ventured a little closer, and saw her fan pause in its motions for a moment, signaling that she'd seen him. They made eye contact.

"Hi, Mrs. Quinn." Sully smiled timidly, amazed at how quickly his courage had left him.

"Hello Byron" she replied stiffly, shifting discreetly in the uncomfortable humidity, even in the shade. She eyed him, wondering what he was up to.

"How are you doing today?" He cringed inwardly at the awkward conversation, wondering how to get where he was going.

"I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

He looked at her, the façade of propriety erect as ever. "Fine, thanks." He brought his arm forward, producing a thick bouquet of white cabbage roses, ferns, baby's breath, and Virginia spiderwort, which he'd just returned from picking, stuck into a white porcelain pitcher. "These are for you. I thought they might be nice in your room…" He stuck his hands in his pockets as she accepted them from him, the expression in her pale blue eyes one of pleasant surprise.

"Why, thank you, Byron. These are lovely." She graciously inhaled their fragrance, and looked up at him inquisitively. "Whatever compelled you to do something like this?"

Sully looked down at his shoes, deciding to just go with his gut. He looked back up, seeing her watching him. "I don't know. I guess… I guess I just want to be friends with you." Her eyebrows rose, revealing her surprise at his statement, but she was silent. "I mean… well… you know Mike's my best friend. She's real great, and you're her ma, so I figure we should get along. But sometimes it kinda seems like you might not like me or something, so… I guess I thought maybe we could get to know each other."

Elizabeth was silent for another moment, digesting his words, and she couldn't help but be touched, despite his unrefined speech. Suddenly, in a moment of clarity, it occurred to her what a nice, thoughtful young man he was, despite his past, one which, it dawned on her, was completely out of his control. Here was a boy who was trying his best to make it in the world, and furthermore, had found an opportunity to connect with her and embraced it. She settled more comfortably on the bench, one question still nagging in her mind.

"Well, Byron, I will acknowledge that I appreciate your efforts. It must not have been easy for you to approach me today. However there is one question I must ask you, and that is in regards to your intentions with my daughter." Seeing the blank expression upon his face, she added, "With Michaela."

Sully was perplexed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Quinn. My intentions?"

Elizabeth sighed, a little flustered that she might have to spell it out further for him. "Yes, your intentions. What you plan to do with her." She emphasized the word 'do', hoping to communicate everything she meant by her tone alone.

"Uh…" Sully shrugged, feeling put on the spot and confused by her question."I don't know, exactly. I guess I thought we would go on walks, and talk, and I could show her everything here. Johann said he might take us to the seashore sometime—"

Elizabeth chuckled, her tone indulgent, cutting him off with a wave of her hand, feeling relieved and slightly foolish. The poor boy had no idea what she meant, and that made her feel significantly better about leaving Michaela here for the summer. "Well, Byron, that certainly sounds like a wonderful summer. Thank you ever so much for these lovely flowers, and I do hope you'll come speak to me whenever you wish."

A large grin covered Sully's face, and his blue eyes twinkled with pleasure.He rushed forward on an impulse, hugging her neck, glad to have cleared the air between them, somehow. "Thanks Mrs. Quinn" he breathed, before pulling back, smiling again, and turning to run back toward the house, where he'd left Michaela in the kitchen with Josie. "See ya later!" he called, waving, before he disappeared through the door into the mudroom.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

After the Quinns left, he summer flew by quickly, Sully and Michaela forming a deep friendship through the time spent in one another's company. They passed many days in the outdoors, walking, exploring, and fishing. Further swims were conducted in proper swimming apparel, though Michaela secretly missed the freedom she'd experienced in the water without the constricting costume. Evenings were often spend before the cooling breeze of an open window, the children sitting at the feet of Josie or Johann, listening to stories of their lives, and on occasion, Johann's stories of old Norse mythology, filled with Vikings and trolls and elves. The evening tales provided the inspiration for Michaela and Sully's adventurous hearts as well as their quests out of doors, and the woods often took on the character of some far away and magical land.

Sully showed an inquisitive Michaela how to do each of his chores, and she was fascinated by each one, coaxing him to let her try to do them for him from time to time. Michaela also orchestrated a morning in the kitchen with Josie, so she could learn how to make biscuits and pies, though her unpracticed hands produced overly-handled dough that emerged from the oven hard and dry.

Sully chuckled quietly at Michaela's wrinkled nose as she pried a hard lump of biscuit dough from the tray, laughing harder when it landed with a thud and rolled across the room. Exasperated, she dropped the spatula on the counter, her hands poised on her hips.

"Don't laugh, Byron, I don't know what I did wrong!" she exclaimed, trying her hardest to swallow her own laughter. Josie had stepped out a minute ago to pull summer vegetables from the garden for their supper. "Why do they keep doing that?"

Calming himself, Sully shrugged. "Not sure. Guess you just got the touch" he stated casually, breaking into chuckles again when her mouth dropped open in indignation over his statement.

"How dare you!" Suddenly, a puff of flour bloomed over Sully's head, and he found himself covered in a fine white dust , Michaela's eyes sparkling as she covered her mouth to hide her laughter. Her olive and hazel eyes grew wide, though, when he began to move toward the flour canister, and she quickly grabbed a handful before retreating to the far side of the room, mentally planning her next move.

Not intimidated in the least, and grinning impishly, Sully grabbed the entire canister and charged her, causing her to squeal and run away, as he chased her in circles around the kitchen. He caught her halfway around the large butcher block in the center of the kitchen, grabbing her arm, and she spun around laughing and squealing in delight, throwing her handful of flour at him in an attempt to make him release her. Instead, he dumped the entire canister of flour over her head, watching the loose powder coat her in white.

Gasping, Michaela shook her head to get the flour out of her eyes, and looked up at him incredulously. Torn between laughing and crying, she paused for a moment, before launching herself toward him. Releasing a peal of giggles, she hugged him tightly, making sure to rub as much flour as she could into his hair. Laughing hysterically and trying to get away, he dropped to the floor, twisting out of her arms and finding her hands so he could pin her down to keep her from doing more damage, and then threw his leg over her flailing feet.

Just then, Josie came back into the room and gasped in disbelief to see Sully straddling Michaela, covered in flour, in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"Byron Sully!" Josie's shocked voice broke into their floury world, and Sully looked up from his position over Michaela, the mess they'd made suddenly dawning on him. "What on earth do you think you are doing? Get off of her immediately!" Huffing over to the pair, she took Michaela's hand to help her up, Sully stumbling back a few paces, rather stunned by Josie's anger. "Johann!" she called, as she began to dust off an equally stunned Michaela.

Johann almost immediately entered the kitchen from his library, where he had been researching some rather unusual symptoms. He stopped short seeing the children's powdery white appearance, and Josie's face flushed in anger. Composing himself, not quite sure what had happened, he looked to his wife. "What happened?"

I'm rather unsure of the extent of it, but I came in from outside a moment ago to find Byron on top of Michaela." She saw his eyebrow quirk, not quite understanding her meaning. "_On top_ of her, Johann. _On the floor_." She gave him a meaningful look hoping he would catch on, not wanting to say more in front of the children.

The implications suddenly hitting him, Johann turned his gaze to a fearful, bewildered looking Sully and Michaela. He was admittedly confused that he didn't see guilt but rather confusion in their eyes, but nonetheless it was apparently time for a difficult conversation. "Come with me, Byron," was all he said before leaving through the garden door.

Twenty minutes later found Michaela in a milky white bath, Josie scrubbing her hair, trying to release all the flour before the water turned it to gluey white clumps in her auburn hair. Josie had remained silent until now, thinking over her words, and feeling as if she couldn't find the right ones. Michaela echoed her silence, replaying the afternoon's events in an attempt to understand why Josie was so upset. They hadn't done anything wrong, had they?

Finally, Josie decided she had better just begin the conversation. "Michaela?"

"Yes Josie?" Michaela murmured, anxious about what would come next.

"Do you understand why what I saw this afternoon when I entered the kitchen was wrong?" Pouring the pitcher of warm water over the young girl's hair, Josie hoped simple questions might reveal what was going on in the child's mind.

Michaela thought for a moment, before attempting "Because it's improper to rough house at our age, and because we made a mess?"

Josie sighed, feeling anxious herself. "No dear. Those things are inappropriate, but I wouldn't have been so upset by that. Actually, it's about… well, about… Do you know about husbands and wives, dear? About when people fall in love?" She came around to the other side of the tub, so she could face the girl looking so caught between childhood and womanhood in the bath water. She hadn't yet reached adolescence, the slight figure barely showing evidence of adolescent curves.

Michaela shook her head. "You mean about coming out and courting?"

Josie smiled softly. "No, I mean after that, dear. About kissing, and touching."

Michaela's mind began to swim, trying to connect where this conversation was going with what happened in the kitchen. As far as she could tell, they weren't at all related.

"Let's just put it this way, dear. When a man and a woman lie down together, it should only, ever, be when they are married, and in private. It's part of how they show their love for each other, by being close… So, when that happens outside of marriage, can you see how that might look bad?" Josie's kind brown eyes held Michaela's, watching as realization bloomed there, and she nodded.

Michaela looked down, suddenly extremely embarrassed. "I didn't know, Josie," she murmured softly, meekly. "I'm sorry. We're not like that, Sully and I. I never even thought about that. We're just friends." Michaela's small, repentant voice was pleading for understanding.

Standing up and wrapping a large, soft towel around the girl, she squeezed her in a tight hug. "I see that now, dear. Just be careful. I'd hate for you to find yourself in a situation you didn't understand someday."

Michaela hugged her back, grateful that Josie could be so understanding, and sure that had her mother found them, she wouldn't be allowed to see Sully any more. Dressing quickly, she combed out her hair and turned to the older woman.

"May I go find Byron now? I want to apologize to him."

Josie nodded, smiling. "You may try. But don't interrupt him if he's still speaking with Johann."

"Yes ma'am," she agreed as she slipped out the door and down the hall, heading outside to the barn.

Sully was there, alone, kicking at pebbles and looking angry.

"Byron?" He looked up, surprised, and immediately turned red. Unknown to them, Johann had been much more specific with Sully than Josie had been with Michaela, deciding it was time to issue him a detailed education during his own bath.

"Hey, Mike," he replied, leaning against the barn door, head lowered a little.

Sensing only somewhat accurately his feelings, Michaela reached out to him. "It's alright, Sully, we didn't know… But now we do, so it won't happen again…" Sully barely responded, nodding his head slightly but not looking up. "Was Johann angry?"

Sully shook his head, finally looking at her. "Nope. Just told me why we shouldn't be doin' that." He paused, gathering the courage to go on, and took a deep breath. "Sorry, Mike, I didn't mean… I didn't mean anything by it." He looked at her, trying to see if she was hurt, embarrassed, offended, or anything. "Are… are you ok?"

She smiled, warmth and affection radiating from her eyes and smile. "I'm fine, Byron. I didn't know it was bad either… Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just kinda embarrassin's all."

Josie called them to dinner then, and they smiled at each other, before turning to walk inside, surrounded by the shimmering twilight of their childhood on a summer evening.

During the last week before the Quinns returned to take Michaela home, the Nordheims took the children to the shore. A doctor friend of Johann's owned a little cottage there, and Michaela and Sully delighted in the relaxed atmosphere, warm sunshine, and cooling sea breeze. They spent hours on the beach, searching for shells along the beach, exploring sea life in the shallow tide pools among the rocks, and swimming in the shallows.

For the sake of simplicity, Josie prepared simple smorgasbords for their meals, locally baked bread and jam for breakfast, and sausage, cheese, pickles and other little treats with their bread for lunch and dinner. A few times, Johann surprised them with little meat pies or other delicacies from the local retailers along the shore. Michaela delighted in these new treats, being accustomed to formal meals in Boston, but her favorite was the ice cream. She and Sully were afforded one dish each day, and they tried every flavor in an attempt to choose their favorite.

On their last day at the shore, the pair walked slowly down the shore, the water just tickling their feet as they walked, dishes of ice cream in hand. It was early afternoon, and the sun was shining brilliantly through the waves. Michaela was wearing her typical light blue dress, and Sully thought she looked like a part of the sea, the white tatting around her neck and wrists mimicking the frothy waves.

Sully finished his ice cream quickly, and glanced hungrily at Michaela's hands as she chattered happily about the fun they'd had this summer. She had barely eaten anything, and her ice cream was turning to soup.

"You gonna eat that?"

Michaela looked at the lumpy dish, feeling as if she'd had enough ice cream this week to last her a lifetime. Her eyes rose to Sully's, which were still focused on the sweet blackberry confection in her hands. The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she grinned mischievously at him.

"No, you can have it… if you can catch me!" With that, she broke into a dash through the surf, giggling and squealing her mirth, her hair flowing behind her in curls and waves with her movement, as he shouted challenges after her.

Slowly, he caught up, grabbing her from behind and trying to get to her hands. She twisted and squirmed to get away, but he caught her again, both trying not to spill the ice cream, but not wanting to give in to the other, either. Giggling, Michaela raised the dish above her head, trying anything to keep it away from him. Laughing, Sully jumped for it, easily reaching it due to their similar heights, but not expecting in the process to see the ice cream soup spill onto Michaela's head, running in thick streams over her windblown hair.

Gasping, Michaela just stared at him, emotions flitting through her eyes as Sully waited in horror for her reaction. As she looked down to see if the confection was on her clothing, it dripped down onto the front of her dress and skirt, and that was the deciding factor.

"Last one in is a rotten egg!" she shouted, running into the water. Sully's eyebrows rose in surprise; she hadn't been swimming in anything but her bathing costume since that first day. Barely hesitating, he ran in after her, swimming out to dunk his head and then returning to jump waves as she tried to rinse the ice cream from her hair.

Clothes clinging to their bodies, a dripping Sully and Michaela returned to the beach cottage to change clothes before dinner. Josie gave them questioning looks as they entered together, and looking only slightly guilty went silently to their separate bedrooms to change. They emerged to sit together on the window seat overlooking the shore, reading the last chapters of the Swiss Family Robinson together while they waited for dinner time.

Josie looked on silently over her knitting, from time to time making eye contact with Johann over his medical journal, both thinking there was something about these two they just couldn't put their finger on, and wondered if they even knew how singular and how precious their bond truly was.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Billows of steam filled the station as the train screeched to a halt, shuddering loudly as it settled. People began pouring out of its doors, the station filled to the brim with a rushing, pushing throng driving against Michaela's small frame as her eyes searched frantically for Sully. Clutching her hat to her head, she grew more frantic as the crowd thinned, and still she didn't see him. She had double and triple checked the schedule, now folded tightly in her gloved hand. She didn't need to reread it; she knew it by heart. She wondered briefly if something had happened to prevent his coming, if he was ill, or the Nordheims needed him, or there was an accident. Biting her lip as the station really began to clear out, her fingers now tightly clasped in front of her; she wondered what she should do. She supposed it was possible she could have missed him; there had been so many people at once.

Out of the thunder of shoes stepping, voices calling, and silks crushing, she heard a man chuckle near her ear. Spinning around she was confronted with a young man, or rather, his dimpled chin.

"If you hadn't been bitin' your lip like that, I don't know if I would've recognized you, Mike."

Her eyes grew wide in realization, her lips parted in shock.

"Byron?"

He grinned. "Yep."

Giggling, she threw her arms around his lean waist, lifting her chin to rest on his shoulder. He embraced her, noting how feminine she felt in his arms. Pulling back from the brief hug, Michaela's eyes scanned his frame.

"You're…grown up," she stated dumbly, not sure quite how to put words to the changes she was observing. It had been two nearly years since their last summer together, since they'd last seen each other. At fourteen, he was definitely taller, nearly a head above her, and his voice had changed, but it was more than that. His shoulders had broadened a little. His hands now showed off large bones and thick fingers, more like the hands of a man. His legs were longer, but still slender, leading down to large feet, much too large for his body at the moment, but growing up with a doctor, she knew his body would catch up in a few years. Looking up to his face, she was now used to his tanned skin, but his features were much more grown up. His jaw was now pronounced, sharply angling up from a strong chin, and his nose was broader and longer. His eyes set in a little deeper below his brow. They were the same piercing blue, but they seemed wiser, more settled, more at peace with the world. They twinkled as he grinned down at her, catching her looking at him, his lips curving charmingly. Her breath caught in her throay at being caught looking at him like that, scolding herself for her rudeness, and she lowered her eyes becomingly, a small smile on her lips and a blush settling on her cheeks.

Michaela knit her fingers together, belying her nerves. Looking back up into his familiar eyes, she knew she should say something to break the silence, which was quickly growing awkward, at least for her, and she blurted out the first thing she could think of.

"How was your trip?" She looked up at him expectantly.

He smiled down at her, wanting to ease her apparent nerves. "Good…it was kind of nice having the time to myself just to think, an' read…you know?"

She returned his smile, taking comfort in the simple fact that he still liked solitude. "Yes, it does sound quite nice..." she said as she turned, easily looping her arm through his to lead him to the carriage.

Looking around, he wondered aloud, "Where is everyone?" She turned to face him as they stopped in front of the carriage.

"Father is at the hospital…he had an emergency surgery and Mother is hosting a flower show. I thought perhaps we could walk in the Common or down at the harbor, since Mother and her guests will be at the house all afternoon?"

Sully brightened at the thought of having her to himself for a few hours. "Sounds good…how 'bout the harbor? Water sounds nice."

Smiling, Michaela nodded her agreement. "Of course."

Sully offered his hand, gently touching her lower back as he assisted her into the carriage, his heart fluttering at the contact. It's just Mike, he thought. Just Mike.

As she settled in her seat across from him, Sully took the opportunity to really take her in. She had definitely matured in the last two years. She looked delicate, feminine, refined. She wore a small lavender felt hat, perched high on a nest of shiny copper ringlets at the back of her head, a far cry from the long flowing locks and occasional bonnet he was used to. The upsweep of her hair revealed a slender neck and finely boned face. Features he had always thought pretty now seemed lovely, or beautiful, or both. Her cheekbones were more apparent now, her nose thinner, her lips fuller, and pinker. Her eyes were still wide, framed by a thick fringe of lashes, but they seemed more…grownup, somehow…maybe it was just the way she used them now, more ladylike, elegant, shy. The vibrant shades of green and soft shades of brown in her eyes were as compelling as ever, but the fire he was used to seeing there was burning more tentatively, as if carefully tended for fear someone might attempt to snuff it out.

She wore a pretty lavender dress, well tailored to follow her…curves. She still had a slight figure, but definitely not the same child's frame she'd carried two years ago. The dress fit her body closely, its high neck and white lace collar not revealing anything specific, but the cut of the dress emphasizing her slender arms, trim shoulders, a delicate bustline, narrow torso, and small waist. A lace shawl framed her shoulders, its translucent weave definitely more for style than warmth. Her lace gloved hands, folded neatly in her lap, still featured fingers that unconsciously knit tightly together, but they seemed longer, more refined. Something in the way she sat, straighter, more still, testified to the change in her as well. She definitely seemed more affected by high society than she had been when he'd last seen her, more refined, proper. He had always thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, and she still was. He watched her blink, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks. She was definitely breathtaking. He wondered how much she had changed inwardly.

Michaela had been watching the street pass by, feeling Sully's eyes on her. Slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, she kept her eyes trained on the passing buildings, wondering what he was thinking. She knew she had grown up since she'd seen him last, they both had, but hadn't given it much thought until he was sitting here across from her. Would he think she was too girly, or too proper? He had changed too, at least outwardly. But she knew as well as anyone that outward change rarely happened without inward change. He had grown up in the last two years, and she had missed most of it, except for what they'd exchanged in letters. Would they still be as close as they had been?

For the umpteenth time, she railed against the European tour he'd taken with the Nordheims last summer. Of course it must have been wonderful for him, seeing Italy and France and England – she knew his parents had come from England so it must have been fascinating for him – but it had meant such a long time between visits. There letters had continued, even while he'd been abroad, but she often wondered if letters would be enough to maintain their friendship. Would they grow apart?

For her part, her mother had devoted herself to making her into a proper young lady since they'd stepped off the train from New York two years ago. And while Michaela knew it was only a part of growing up, she often heard Sully's voice in her head, questioning the veracity of so many conventions. And why were they so important anyway? She knew on many counts, he would be right.

Yet she also knew that some measure of conformity would pave her way into medicine; she had only to figure out where to comply and where to break free. Her father had been so helpful in this area, offering invaluable guidance and irreplaceable opportunities. He had even spoken of internships that would be available to her through close colleagues of his, and she couldn't wait to actually be working in a hospital.

Her silent thoughts trailing in the wake of their carriage, the pair arrived at the harbor before they knew it, the joy of the impending summer filling their senses as the watery horizon came into view.

"Come on, aren't ya gonna join me?" He was sitting in the sand, pulling off his shoes and socks, rolling his pants up above his ankles.

"Oh Sully, I don't think so. Mother would have a fit, and my dress…" she trailed off, feeling foolish for worrying about her dress, but knowing she shouldn't go in. "You go ahead."

He eyed her keenly. He could see in her eyes that she wanted to, but some voice in her head was stopping her. "Since when do ya care about your dress? 'Sides, you love the water…what's holdin' ya back?"

"Nothing, I just…it…I…shouldn't." Her brow creased in consternation as she stared longingly at the water, wondering what was holding her back, suddenly realizing she had changed: she hadn't hesitated at all two years ago, the last time she'd even been to the shore.

Watching her still, he challenged her once more. "If nothin's holdin' ya back, then take your shoes off, an' come with me." He stood up and turned around to hold his hand out to her, smiling down at her.

She studied him for a moment, frustrated that he was testing her, before her eyes filled with the determination he knew so well and she sank to the sand to remove her boots and stockings. As she stood, letting her shawl and hat fall next to her shoes, she looked up to see Sully backing toward the water, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

Michaela watched him quizzically for a moment, before something sparked in her eyes. Smiling brightly, she lifted her skirts and bolted for the water, racing him to the shallows before turning sharply and running as fast as she could down the shoreline, her delighted giggles trailing behind her in the wind. Sully chased after her, his long legs quickly catching up with her.

As he neared, she squealed and turned up toward the beach, then weaved back toward the water, desperate to continue their game for a while before he caught her. She could hear him laughing and calling after her, but she kept running, loving the freedom she always felt with him.

He caught up with her, lifting her from behind and swinging her around, marveling at how light she was, before setting her down again, his arms still wrapped tightly around her waist from behind, pinning hers to her sides. She squealed, trying to get away, fleetingly thinking it should feel strange to be this close to a boy, and wondering why it didn't, before he lifted her again, threatening to drop her into the deeper water.

"Don't you dare, Byron Sully!" she squealed. "You know Mother would never forgive me!"

Laughing heartily, Sully spun her around again before setting her down in the wet sand. Something in him didn't want to let go, didn't want to let her walk away, but he shook it off. She playfully swatted his arm before heading up the beach, still giggling from her minor victory.


	12. Chapter 11

AN: This week has flown! I just now realized it was Wednesday, and most of you are probably already in bed. So sorry! I just lost track of time, is all :) A shortish chapter, but one of my personal favorites so far.

Chapter 11

Both now winded from their playful chase, Sully and Michaela walked back up the beach, and he laid out his jacket for them to sit upon.

Sully lounged comfortably, watching Michaela arrange herself neatly next to him, her legs curled to one side, her back straight, smoothing out her skirts around her. He chuckled at her, so prim all of a sudden, and she looked up at him quizzically.

"What?"

"Just funny, seein' ya sittin' all prim and proper like. Didn't used t' be like that," he observed casually.

"I have to, Byron, I can't help it," she asserted.

He chuckled. "Sure ya can, just swing your legs out front of ya like ya used to." He gestured with his arm.

She shook her head, wondering how she was going to explain this discreetly. "No, Byron, I mean…I _can't_ …I can't sit comfortably any other way…I…" she sighed, shifting uncomfortably, trying desperately to avoid explaining to him how a lady's underthings restricted her movements.

Suddenly catching her drift, Sully's eyes drifted down to her erect torso, swiftly remembering how stiff she had felt when he picked her up her a few minutes ago.

"Oh." She watched his eyes move back up to her face, scrutinizing her. She blushed in embarrassment. "Why ya gotta where one of those? Ya don't need it. I thought ya always said ya didn't care for all that girly stuff?"

Flustered, her blush deepened. "I don't. I don't have a choice Byron, it's just what's done… I… it really isn't proper to be talking about… _this_."

"Corsets?" His eyes twinkled, knowing he was getting to her.

"Byron!" she scolded him, indignant.

He chuckled again, deciding to leave it alone for the moment, and touched her hand. "I'm sorry Mike, I was just teasin'." His eyes were sincere, and she smiled.

"It's alright, Byron. I'm sorry too, it's just that, well, I suppose some things have changed since we last saw one another."

He sighed, laying back in the sand, his hands folded behind his head. She watched him enviously, longing for the days she could be so comfortable, with little thought for propriety, at least not in his company.

"Like you becomin' a girl?"

She frowned. "I've always been a girl, Sully."

He kept his eyes trained on the sky. "Sure ya have. I just didn't think ya'd care so much about girl stuff, an' what's proper…"

She sighed. "I suppose. Is there something so wrong with being a girl, after all?"

He looked up at her, his eyes trailing over her form. She was certainly better at being a girl than any of the others he knew, and, he had to admit, she didn't seem as preoccupied with superficial things as he was accusing her of. Reaching her eyes, he smiled. "Nope, guess not."

She blushed again, and smiled.

"So ya gonna join me down here, or just sit there all stiff wishin' ya could?"

She cringed inwardly, not wanting to get into another argument about how girly she was. "I'll never get the sand out of my hair," she said quietly, suddenly feeling sensitive, waiting for his comment.

He didn't want to push her, but he did want her to enjoy herself. He moved his body so he was laying perpendicular to and behind her. She watched him warily, wondering what he was doing.

"Lay your head on my stomach, then. Ya gotta see the sky from this angle, it's beautiful."

She hesitated a moment, then decided she didn't want to argue any more. The sand would be easier to get out of her dress than her hair. Shifting carefully, she eased herself down, laying her head softly on his stomach, not wanting to hurt him. She was surprised at how firm it was. She smiled, looking up at the deep blue sky, fluffy clouds scattered across it, a few seagulls circling above.

"It is beautiful."

They lay there for a few minutes, each enjoying the simple pleasure of just being in the presence of the other, the sound of the waves rolling in and the seagulls calling. Her lavender dress against the cool beige of the sand and the blues of the water and sky created a palette that relaxed him. The breeze carried her sweet scent to his nostrils, drawing his eyes down to the mass of glossy ringlets splayed out on his stomach, then to her delicate profile and down her slight form. She really was beautiful.

"Byron?" Her voice was light, relaxed, thoughtful.

"Yeah?"

"Do you really think I've changed that much?"

"I dunno…more like you've just grown up some, you know? You're not a little girl any more – but that ain't just the outside – ya just seem a little less free, I guess."

"Less free?"

"Mm-hmmm. Like ya gotta think about what you're gonna say, 'stead of just sayin' it." He couldn't resist winding his finger into one of her soft curls, careful not to pull enough to let her feel it. He was amazed at how silky it felt.

She reflected on his statement for a moment. "Is that a bad thing?

"Guess not, so long as it's helpin' ya say what's on your heart, and not keepin' ya from it." He watched her smile.

After a pause, she continued, "You've changed too, you know."

"Yeah?" He fingered another curl, squeezing it gently between his fingers, then wrapping it around his pinky.

"Mmmm…I mean of course you're taller, and things like that, but you seem – I don't know – content, I suppose." She watched a seagull swoop down low over the water, before arching back up into the sky.

"I guess I am. Livin' with the Nordheims has been good. Johann's a wise man… we talk a lot… Josie's really taken good care of me… and apprenticing for the carpenter in town has been real good. He's taught me so much – more than just wood working. It's been nice, gettin' settled down."

"That's wonderful, Bryon." She absently fingered the pleats of her skirt.

"Yeah…it's _almost_ perfect…"

"Almost?" She was wondering what could be missing from the perfect simplicity he had described, a world she was not and could never be a true part of.

He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, rubbing his hand up and down his stomach, so he could feel the curls of her hair brush over the back of his fingers: "Well, there's this girl…I like 'er a lot…best friend I ever had…an' I love spendin' time with 'er, but she ain't around much…" Michaela froze, chastising herself for being surprised that Sully might be sweet on a girl, when he was fourteen, after all. But, would he write to her less? Would they still be as close? Sully's voice disrupted her thoughts "…she lives in Boston…gonna be a doctor someday…"

A slow smile spread over Michaela's face, relief and embarrassment replacing her nerves from a moment ago. She felt his chuckle deep within his belly. "I've missed ya, Mike."

She turned her head to look up at him, finding his head already leaned up to peer at her. She smiled, biting her lip, feeling foolish for not catching on sooner, but altogether happy that they still needed one another.

"I've missed you, too, Byron."

He smiled and touched her cheek, acknowledging their shared sentiment.

"So, what's planned for the summer?" He laid back, soaking up the warm sun.

"Oh…not much. Father's arranged a month at the Maine shore for the entire family-"

He groaned inwardly. "Your sisters, too?"

"-Mmm…and their husbands and children. It's a large summer house…we used to go every summer, but it's been less the last few years since Father became chief surgeon at the hospital. He can't get away as often, and Mother doesn't like to be away from him for very long." Her fingers found a bit of broken shell in the sand, and she lifted it above her to examine it.

"What're we gonna do in a house with your family for a month?"

Michaela giggled. "We won't be inside for a month, Byron. I'd imagine we'll be outside most of the time. The coastline is beautiful Father says…plenty of walking and exploring to do…we can swim…I'd imagine the others will want to ride… and I'm sure they'll have boats… my sisters will tire of us soon enough… we'll be able to spend most of our time as we wish…"

"Mike, if you wanna ride…"

"We don't have to…not unless you're ready…and I don't intend to do anything without you this summer. It's been two years and I want to savor every moment."

"Me too…hey Mike?" He picked up one of her curls again.

"Yes?"

"What would you think if I started callin' you Michaela?"

Sully had to let go of her hair quickly when Michaela suddenly sat up and turned her body toward him, surprised at the question. Her Father and Sully were the only two people who used her nickname, and they were the people she loved the most, and who understood her the most, in the world. "Why?"

He sat up slowly and studied her, trying to figure out if she was upset. He hesitated. "I don't know… I've always thought 'Mike' didn't do you justice, an' I just wondered if you'd mind if I called you Michaela…"

"Doesn't do me justice?" Michaela was confused.

"Yeah…you're just so – amazin' – sweet, smart, nice, funny, pretty, stubborn…an' a name like Mike just doesn't fit all that…"

She sat contemplating his words for a moment, amazed that he'd put so much thought into it. She'd always thought her full name so formal, but the way he put it, it seemed…beautiful.

"I suppose it's alright… yes…"

He lay back down, and shifted his eyes back to the sky, feeling foolish. "It's ok – I don't have to, I just-"

"No, I want you to call me whatever you like, Byron. Of course you may call me Michaela."

He smiled, gazing up at her. "Thanks…Michaela." She loved the way he said it. He sat up again, propping himself up on his hands.

She smiled in return, standing up carefully and brushing the sand from her dress. "We should probably head home. We'll need time to dress for supper."

He groaned, wishing their perfect afternoon could go on uninterrupted by Boston society.


	13. Chapter 12

Whew! For a few days there, I thought I might be plagued with no computer at all!

As with my other stories – strict historical accuracy is not my main goal. Rather, I want to remain somewhat true to the times, while employing my own creative application. So, please enjoy the story – as fiction.

Also – dialectical spelling is difficult, so forgive me. I hope you can make it out!

Chapter 12

Summer in Maine progressed just as Michaela predicted. After two days of relative chaos during which Elizabeth orchestrated a lavish first supper on the lawn overlooking the ocean, the elder sisters argued over whom should have each bedroom while Rebecca valiantly struggled to keep the peace, Michaela sulked in the library with Josef,, exasperated at the to-do, and an overwhelmed Sully tried his best to hide out of doors, general activity slowed to a leisurely pace.

Michaela and Sully spent hours exploring the rocky, forested coastline, breaking only occasionally to spend an afternoon with Josef or accompany Rebecca into the small coastal village, nestled in a cove near the house, for ice cream. They enjoyed each other thoroughly, falling easily into the deep, blossoming friendship they'd experienced two years ago.

For Michaela, the relative unease she felt with the changes in herself eased significantly after a few days, finding that Sully, though himself matured, still saw in her the same person he'd befriended three years ago in a tree on Boston Common. Though distinctly alert to her changing form and overwhelmingly aware of the onset of her adolescence, she felt her physical self fall away from consciousness when she was with Sully; he didn't act as if he noticed the changes in her at all.

Had Sully known her thoughts, he would have been proud. For his part, he was painfully aware of Michaela's blossoming figure, not to forget the shining hair she let flow loose while in Maine, the sparkling eyes that had captivated him from the first day they'd met, the soft-looking lips, pink and smiling in the ocean breezes.

He fought an almost daily battle with his raging hormones, repeatedly caught off guard by his body's response to what should have been an insignificant circumstance: her hair brushing over his arm as they explored tide pools, the way she would bite her lip when she felt foolish or self-conscious, the sparkle in her eyes when she appreciated something he said, the curves of her form when she paused from her reading to stretch. He felt terrible for having these thoughts and feelings about his best friend, and he strove diligently to quell these reactions and store them away from anyone's notice.

The day had begun much like many others in Maine, though it would end quite differently. Sully had woken from a dream of Michaela touching his shoulder, shuddering from the pleasing though uninvited feelings coursing through his body. He'd cursed himself for dreaming things like that about her, slowly getting dressed before meeting a chipper and blissfully ignorant Michaela for an early breakfast at the kitchen table. The rest of the family would eat an hour later in the dining room, but Michaela had spotted a new path in the woods the day before, and she was dying to explore it.

Now, two hours later, they were deep into the dense, mossy woods. Birds sang in the trees, the roar of the ocean waves barely distinguishable from the wind that rustled the leaves far above them. They had taken several turns, the pine-needle carpeted path on which they'd started yielding fork after fork.

Michaela was leading for the moment, and suddenly felt Sully tug at the back of her sleeve. She stopped abruptly, sensing the urgency in his slight touch, turning questioning eyes to meet his.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, standing still to listen again.

"Hear what?"

"Singin'…" He held his hand up to prevent her from speaking further. Then, it came again, low, mournful.

"_Steal away…"_

They looked at each other, curiosity battling fear of the unknown as they waited. Then, it came again.

"_Steal away_," the voice was soft, but rich, resonating in their souls, "_steal away home_."

Without a sound, Sully grabbed Michaela's hand, ducking into the undergrowth.

"Byron?" she whispered loudly. "Where are we going?"

He turned, holding his finger to his lips. "Shhh… We gotta follow it, come on…" He turned back, pulling her behind him as the singing continued.

"_My Lord, He calls me  
He calls me by the thunder  
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul  
I ain't got long to stay here_"

"But Byron, we'll get in trouble. We really shouldn't. What if it's not safe?"

He stopped, facing her in the dense foliage. Seeing her slight upset, he held her arms, subconsciously knowing his touch might calm her. "She's singin' 'steal away,' Michaela. She's calling people to leave what they're doing and come to her."

"How do you know?"

"I heard Johann and Josef talking once. They were sayin' a lot of slaves hide secret messages in their songs. I bet 'steal away' is calling people to meet up somewhere or something." He looked in the direction of that beautiful, low tone. "I just wanna see who she is, what's going on. We'll be safe, don't worry."

With that, he gave her arms a single squeeze, gripped her hand again, and followed the voice further into the woods.

"_Green trees are bending  
Po' sinner stand a-trembling  
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul  
I ain't got long to stay here_

_Steal away_"

After several minutes, Sully stopped, crouching behind a large fallen cedar to peer into a shaded clearing. Afraid to be seen, Michaela sat leaning against the trunk next to Sully, anxious to know what he saw and afraid at the same time. When he didn't say anything, she pulled on his pant leg.

"Byron, what is it?" she whispered.

He eased down next to her, holding his knees. "There's an old rundown shack, and a black lady standing outside. She must've been the one singing. There's a family there, too, they look real poor and tired– might be runaway slaves – I don't know."

Michaela's eyes grew large in wonder and excitement, the moss and bark colors in her eyes reflecting the same colors in the trunk behind her now more than ever before. Sully couldn't help but be caught in them for a moment.

"Hey now!" An angry, southern voice drew their eyes away from each other. "Whatchoo two think you doin' out heah?"

Looking up, they were confronted with a large, burly black man. Before they could speak, he grabbed their arms, lifting them to their feet, and dragged them into the clearing.

"Hey Mamma Rose, look what I got." He stopped in front of the old woman, holding a trembling Sully and Michaela at his sides. "Might be more…don' much know."

Sully shook his head rapidly, feeling the need to protect Michaela. If this man thought they were a threat, things could get bad, and fast.

"No, it's just us, I promise. We just heard ya singin' and came to see what it was. We don't mean no harm, I swear."

Michaela was stunned to uncharacteristic silence, alternately watching Mama Rose's changing expressions, the tired looking family who were looking on with big, frightened eyes, and Sully, whose relaxed dialect she'd never heard before.

Mama Rose studied the two with soft eyes and a stern face, hands on her hips. "You two run off together? Y'all awful young fo' that." Before they could respond, she took the large man's place between them, he immediately retreating out of obvious respect for the older woman, and put her arms around them, leading them into the shack.

Inside, the cabin was surprisingly homey, considering its dilapidated appearance outside, and its remote location. Four chairs circled a homemade table by the cooking fire, and Mama Rose plopped them here with warm cornbread and a cup of tea, joining them once they were served.

Despite the uncertainty of their situation, Michaela instinctively felt at ease with the older woman. She had a bright red bandana tied about her head, and she could tell she was a kind-hearted woman.

Sully, wondering when their roles had reversed, felt on guard. Considering the circumstances, he guessed these were runaways. And runaways weren't going to want to let two kids go back and tell their families what they'd seen. His mind reeled trying to think of ways to get out of this situation, but he couldn't think of anything. Eli, as the woman had called the man who had found them, was too big and strong. Probably quick too.

"Now chillen, tell ol' Mama whatchoo's up to out there. Deep woods ain' no place for younguns. An' y'all's got a look aboutcha thet y'all gotta warm home 'n' family waitin' for y'all." She looked at their refined, well-fitting clothes, recognizing that kind of wealth.

Sully remained silent, not sure which information was safe to share. Michaela, trusting this woman completely, jumped in.

"Yes, ma'am, we do. We're sorry to intrude – we didn't mean any harm. We were just exploring in the woods, and heard your song."

"Heard my singin' didja?" Mama Rose leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in amusement. This girl was obviously intelligent, but completely innocent, and she had called her ma'am – a good sign. Michaela nodded, noting Sully's reserve, but unable to shrug her instinct to trust Mama Rose. She held out her hand to shake Mama's.

"My name is Michaela, and this is—"

"Sully" he interrupted, holding out his hand. He had used his last name before on occasion, when he didn't want people thinking he was fancy. Byron just seemed too formal sometimes. "Nice t' meet ya," he added, reverting to a more relaxed speech than he'd used in years, deciding to at least act like he was comfortable and try to fit in. Michaela quirked her eyebrow at him as he shook Mama's hand, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly at her.

"Well now, it's nice t' meet y'all. Go on, eat y'r cornbread. Now tell ol' Mama the truth: you two runnin' off t'gether?"

Noting Michaela's confused expression, Sully's blue eyes twinkled as he shook his head.

"No ma'am. We're just friends."

Michaela's eyes grew wide at his words, realizing now what Mama had meant. She blushed, scandalized at the thought.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am, but are you… have you escaped?" She changed the subject, deciding to ask what she was dying to know.

"First off, y'all best jus' call me Mama – ain' no call t' call me ma'am." Both children nodded obediently. "Secon', where we been ain' importan.' Bes' jus' get you two on yo' way home t' yo' folks after a little rest."

"But… but that family out there…" Michaela looked out the window, seeing the young mother trying to calm a crying toddler. "They look ill."

"Ain' no concern o' yours, miss."

"But my father's a doctor. He could help—"

"No. Ain' no one could help. Y'all can' tell no one 'bout this here cabin, ya hear?"

"But we're abolitionists. Please, my father would want to help. He won't turn anyone in."

Amused at Michaela's persistence, and hesitant to agree, Mama Rose turned her eyes to Sully, who had been quietly regarding her while Michaela talked. They studied each other for a long moment, each looking for a hint that the other couldn't be trusted. Seeing only integrity in the young man's startling blue eyes, and sincerity in the girl's, she relented. Children this age wouldn't be smart enough to pull one over on them. The question was, would their folks. But Tom and Mary and their kids were awful sick, and it might be worth the risk.

"All right. You bring y'r daddy, an' that's it. Nobody else. Don' tell nobody else either. An' jus' remember ol' Eli – he don' trus' nobody an' if he suspects somethin's up, he's gonna raise a fus. Ya hear?"

"Yes ma'am… Mama, I mean," smiling sheepishly, Michaela nodded, eager to be able to help. "Thank you!" She rose, ready to head home and tell Josef. She couldn't wait to come back and help who she regarded as new friends.

Sully rose, feeling better that it looked like they were going to be allowed to go, but still needing to be careful. If something happened to Michaela… he just couldn't let it.

At the door, Michaela hugged Mama Rose, and kissed her on the cheek, thanking her for the refreshment and for letting them help. Sully stood back, and shook her hand before walking with Michaela back across the clearing, ever aware of Eli sitting on the porch with an old rifle in his lap, watching them keenly.

Sully felt himself relax again only when he led Michaela safely back into the back yard. It was nearing suppertime, and they could smell the clams steaming on the stove. They would tell Josef, and he would know what to do – if they should go back and help or not – if it was safe. He looked at Michaela, who was smiling happily at him, cheeks rosy with excitement and eyes glowing with their secret, completely satisfied with the day's adventure. He smiled back, suddenly filled with the excitement of their discovery now that they were home, safe and sound.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sully watched Michaela through a tear in the oilcloth kitchen window. He was helping Mama Rose unload the goods Josef had insisted they bring: flour, sugar, cornmeal, salt, coffee, beans, molasses, and score of other non-perishable goods. They had borrowed a horse in town to haul everything, which had made for a later start than both Sully and Michaela desired. But, when they had arrived, and Mama Rose and Eli had deemed Josef safe enough, three more families had emerged from the trees, all with children, making the friends glad they had brought generous provisions.

Michaela hugged the little girl tightly, appearing to be singing, while Josef gave her an injection, and Sully's heart swelled with pride. She was so good at that, at comforting people, and as smart as she was, she was going to make a great doctor. It made him excited for the future – he hoped they really could work together like they'd talked about that last summer they were together in New York, and in their letters.

Gradually, he heard Mama Rose chuckling, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. He wondered how long he'd been staring out the window.

"Well now, you _is_ sweet on that girl, ain't ya?"

Sully kept working steadily, his expression set. He honestly hadn't even thought about it that way before. Was he sweet on her? She was certainly pretty – pretty in a compelling, energizing way that he couldn't explain even to himself. And he certainly cared about her – deeply – and they understood each other – he didn't connect with anyone like he did with her.

But that was just it. In his experience, when a boy was sweet on a girl, he thought she was pretty, and brought her presents, and wanted to hold her hand, maybe kiss her cheek or dance with her at the next social. But those weren't the things he thought about with Michaela. He thought about how her eyes lit up when she was happy, or how they grew glossy with tears when she was sad, how she knit her fingers together when she was anxious, bit her lip when she was unsure, the way her light, sweet scent soothed his nerves, how when something troubled him, she always understood, how he didn't have to fake it with her – she didn't expect him to be anything he wasn't. What ever it was, he wasn't just sweet on her.

"It's alright if you is." Mama clucked, smiling to herself. "You just behave yo'self and take yer time – ain' no call to rush. Yo' young yet – got lots o' years ahead o' ya."

Sully nodded, deciding to just let her talk. The conversation would end sooner that way. He felt the heat rising to his cheeks nonetheless, and clenched his jaw. Josef saved him from further conversation, filling the small one-room cabin with his warm nature as he entered from outside to discuss treatment plans with Mama.

That night, Michaela was too excited to sleep. She was so glad they had been able to help Mama Rose and the other families, and by the time they'd left late that afternoon almost everyone was feeling much better. Josef had given Mama detailed instructions on their care, and promised to return in a few days. She couldn't wait to see them all again, especially little Bessie, who had clung to her most of the day and had the sweetest little personality.

She crawled out of bed, curling up on the silky blue chaise by her window to look out at the beach. In the moonlight, she could see the white crests of the waves rolling up on silvery sand. She opened the window a little, so she could smell the salty air, and hear the rush of the ocean. She took a deep breath, thinking there was nothing like the night air, and wondering if she could ever prove its healing benefits… she guessed not. She giggled to herself at her own silliness, thinking of bottling night air and prescribing it to her father's patients.

Lost in her musings, she sat up straighter when she saw movement along the shoreline. After a moment, she could make out Sully's form moving stealthily toward the beach. He was picking his way through the beach grass, and breaking through, walked along the water for a while. She was seriously contemplating sneaking out to join him, when he sat, his arms loosely around his knees as was his habit, and stared out toward the water. Something told her she should leave him alone then, and although she was dying to experience the glory of the night as he was, she watched him longingly instead.

He had been so wonderful that day. After helping Mama with the supplies, he'd come out to play with the healthier children, teaching them games he knew from New York and learning their games in turn. He was so good with them, and admired how he corrected the eldest boy John, when he would cheat, or encouraged little Bill, when he fell down. He just seemed to know what they each needed, and they all seemed to look up to him.

They were fascinated by his blue eyes, of course, and little Bill especially kept trying to touch them, as if he could take the blue off to see the brown underneath. But Sully was gentle with him, and the little boy hugged him fiercely when they left.

Watching him sitting there, she wondered if he was thinking about today, or if something else was on his mind. She fell asleep there, watching him, and woke up as the sun rose above the horizon with a crick in her neck. Stretching, she completed her toilette and dressed before heading down to the kitchen, feeling tired. Perhaps Martha would let her have some coffee this morning.

Sully didn't join Michaela for breakfast that morning, even though she dawdled over her scone and jam, sipping her coffee and savoring the rich, sweet, earthy flavor of coffee, cream, and sugar. Afterward, she felt drawn to the beach where she'd seen Sully last night, and found herself retracing his steps. His footprints were gone, washed away in the high tide overnight, but she settled herself about where he had been sitting, looking out over the water. It was a crisp morning, one that would heat up quickly, but for now, she enjoyed the sharp air filling her lungs, her eyes closing after a while as she allowed herself to enjoy the warm sun on her skin, the cool air, the lulling waves.

Sully approached the shore, smiling to himself at the sight of her. She was all done up in a nice blue dress the color of the ocean, her hair up in that shiny nest of curls, no doubt to appease her mother since they planned to stay around the house today, but plopped in the damp sand, her fingers dug into the coarse depth of it. She couldn't rip herself away from society, or from freedom – he'd never known anyone who personified that struggle like she did. Of course, he couldn't voice these things, but rather felt them, an instinctual sense of discernment it would take him years to learn to truly maximize.

Wordlessly, he sat down next to her, enjoying her surprise – she hadn't noticed him until then.

"Mornin'."

"Good morning," she greeted pleasantly, happy to see him. "Did you get breakfast?"

He held up his scone, filled with raspberry jam, and took a bite, smiling a goofy smile at her.

She giggled, nudging his shoulder with hers. She felt bold, then, and ventured forth.

"I saw you sitting out here last night, after everyone was in bed…" she looked at him then, seeing his expression grow serious.

"What were you thinking about?" Her tone was soft, gentle, nonintrusive. "I mean, you don't have to tell me of course, I just…"

"It's ok. You know you can ask me anything." She nodded, a small smile on her lips. He smiled, feeling close to her, there on the beach in the quiet of the morning with no one else about. "I was thinking a little about my family, how much I miss Mama and Pa, and Will." He paused, taking a cleansing breath, and Michaela nodded, resisting the instinctual urge to touch his hand. Her forehead creased. She struggled with that a lot with Sully, feeling something, but then having to hold it back, because _"it isn't done"_ as her mother would say.

His voice broke her out of her thoughts. "I miss the Nordheims too – I wonder how they're doing without me there to help out with the chores – they're getting older." Again Michaela nodded in understanding. "But I'm glad we got this summer together – it's been really great. The last two days, especially, helping out the escaped slaves." He thought about Mama Rose, and what she had said yesterday. He looked out at the water for a minute, lost in his thoughts. "You ever been sweet on a boy?"

"What?" The change in subject caught her off guard completely.

"You know – have you ever been interested in a boy – besides friends."

"You mean courting?" She hadn't really thought about it, except to dread the matches her mother might come up with, and to wonder how it would work out with medical school.

He shrugged, shaking his head. "Nevermind."

Never one to let something go so easily, Michaela thought of Richard, the boy Marjorie had met this summer, who took her sailing, always chaperoned. Marjorie couldn't stop talking about how handsome he was, how charming, how rugged, and about stolen kisses was Maureen or Rebecca weren't looking.

"If you mean like Marjorie is sweet on Richard, I hope I'm never sweet on a boy!" She giggled, feeling a little mean, but when Sully chuckled too, she felt better.

"Good point," he grinned. But something in her eyes told her he wasn't entirely satisfied with her answer.

"Truly? I don't know… I mean, you're the only boy I've ever really known, aside from acquaintances. I suppose I… I just study, and as much time as I can with Father in his practice, and write to you, and don't think about things like that." She paused, seeing him nod, and then ventured, "are you sweet on someone?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. The other boys just talk about it a lot, and seein' Marjorie, I guess I just wonder about it." He nudged her shoulder. "You'll have your coming out soon. Better get ready." He laughed teasingly at her, and she elbowed him.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." She grinned mischievously, and pulled herself to her feet. "I'll race you to the cave!" At that, she turned and ran, giving herself a head start she knew she needed.


	15. Chapter 14

**AN: Some teenage hormones here. Hold on tight!**

Chapter 14

Sully sat on the train across from his dozing adoptive parents, feeling anxious. Three years had passed since that last summer in Maine; he was seventeen now. There was a part of him, a nagging part, that wondered why he and Michaela were friends at all – they hardly ever saw each other. He knew that when they were together, and even sometimes when he was reading one of her letters, that there was something there, something special, some feeling of understanding or, or sameness of heart, that he'd never experienced with anyone else.

But ever since Johann had taken him out west the summer he was fifteen, something had changed in his correspondence with her. The speed and efficiency of the post was naturally slower out west, so their letters had decreased in frequency accordingly, but the weird thing was, even though he wanted them to, they'd never picked back up.

And it was more than just fewer letters. He had always been able to feel her presence when he read her letters to him, as if she was really there, and he would often feel frustrated that she actually wasn't, wishing they could just talk instead of waiting for the next letter. But now, now he was frustrated because he couldn't really feel her in the letters anymore, almost, but not quite, like that elusive word on the tip of your tongue, or something just out of your reach.

It made it hard for him to put himself into his own letters to Boston. He didn't know if she was doing it on purpose, and if she was, he didn't want to put himself out there only to be rejected. Had all of her mother's expectations and propriety finally overtaken her? Were they growing apart? It was a relationship sustained mostly through letters, and so much was changing in their lives. Maybe they were just growing apart.

He clenched his jaw, steeling himself for any myriad of possibilities he might encounter when they arrived. They were scheduled to spend the summer in Boston, Johann working with Josef in several of the city's most neglected orphanages and poor neighborhoods, with he and Michaela assisting where they could. It had the potential to be wonderful, much like they had dreamed of doing as children, but it could also be really uncomfortable if they had to work together and didn't get along, or just didn't care, anymore. He pulled at his collar, suddenly feeling constricted by the now-familiar suit.

Pulling into the station, Sully helped Josie step down from the train, offering her his elbow as he led his foster parents away from the locomotive. Despite his attention to his parents, his eyes were scanning for a coppery head, and coming up short. Where was she?

Michaela stood stiffly at the morning room window, peering discreetly behind the sheer lace curtains, her narrow form silhouetted against gray and dreary light, watching for the carriage to arrive delivering the Nordheims from the train station. Though it was the beginning of June, light rain fell over the city, water dripping bleakly from the eaves of the brownstones across the street. A shiver ran up her spine as her knuckles brushed the cold window, somehow increasing her frustration with her mother's rigid restrictions on her life.

Having grown up in the upper crust of Boston society, Michaela understood social propriety, she was used to it and lived easily within the expectations placed upon her for the most part, but there were times, today being one of them, last summer another, when she was convinced her mother used their station as an excuse to restrict Michaela further than necessary. Whether it was due to her medical aspirations or her position as youngest child, or something else entirely, Michaela was not sure, but she longed for the day she would be free to do as she pleased. Soon, she thought, soon.

The excuse today had been that it was improper for a young woman to wait for passengers at a train station amongst all the steam, smoke, and crush of people. It was different now that she was seventeen, a lady, she had explained. Last summer, when Sully had to stay in New York to help Johann restore the western fence line of their estate, Michaela wasn't allowed to travel alone, (what would people think?), and with her father committed to his practice, and no one else willing or available to accompany her, she had been relegated to a summer in Boston, where she had somewhat reluctantly assisted her father as an intern.

A carriage pulled up in front of the house, interrupting her thoughts, and a jaunty young man sprang down, helping Dr. and Mrs. Nordheim from the carriage. She strained to see Sully, but there was no sign of him yet. Josef followed, and closed the door behind him, the carriage pulling away shortly. Where was he?

The young man turned, a smart suit accentuating his tall, lean form. His hair was cut close and styled in the fashion of late. Michaela squinted; could it be? His eyes, too far away for her to discern the color, looked up at the house, and she dropped the curtain quickly. Well, it must be him. She felt slightly put off at his stylish appearance and confident ease. Had he become like the other young men she knew, arrogant and self-impressed? He certainly looked like them. She straightened her dress, touching her hair to ensure its proper arrangement, and listened for Harrison to answer the door. She heard their greetings and sighed, the time was here, and contrary to five minutes ago, she wished it wasn't.

She heard her mother enter the foyer, greeting their guests, and knew if she didn't appear soon, she would be reprimanded later. Silently, she moved to the doorway, her eyes falling over Dr. and Mrs. Nordheim, looking the same as ever if not a little older, and then Sully.

Kissing Elizabeth politely on the cheek, Sully backed away to see a very composed Michaela stop in the doorway to the morning room. She might have looked pretty if she didn't look so stiff, but even in the pale pink and creamy lace of her day dress, her discomfort overwhelmed anything else that might have been there. Their eyes met, and for the first time, he couldn't be sure what he saw there.

He smiled, hoping to dispel that unreadable expression she wore, but instead she stepped forward, her gaze moving to Josie who received a warm smile as they exchanged polite hugs. Johann to received a smile, kissing her hand as if he were a young man, complementing her kindly on her beauty. Then, she stood in front of him.

He smiled again, moving to take her hand in his to kiss it as Johann had, and at the same moment, she reached to shake his, resulting in an awkward collision which left them both more uncomfortable then ever.

Michaela smiled weakly, feeling somewhat desperate to see something familiar in his eyes. "Hello, Byron."

He nodded, at a loss for what else to do. Could this be worse? "Michaela."

Elizabeth, slightly confused by their awkward interaction, and not sure whether to be relieved or concerned, broke the moment. "Well, I'm sure you'll all want to freshen up a little after your trip. Martha will show you your rooms, and we'll have lunch in half an hour."

Unable to manage the discomfort any longer, Michaela escaped to the back yard after a very stilted lunch. To be fair, it had probably only been awkward for her and Sully. The four adults chatted easily, and with Michaela's sisters all married and gone, that left the two young people listening to the others' conversation, while feeling as if they should be talking themselves.

Never one to leave partway through a meal, Michaela waited it out, but fled to the garden at her earliest opportunity. Leaning wretchedly against a tree, she wondered how they were ever going to get through the summer.

He could tell she hadn't heard him approaching, for she didn't move as he neared her, and flinched when he spoke.

"Mike? Michaela?"

She turned looking uneasy, and remained silent as she looked up at him.

"You okay?"

She nodded, absently wondering why she felt so overcome by these despairing emotions. Why did his appearance bother her so much? "I'm fine, thank you."

He sighed, feeling frustrated with her, frustrated that she was being so proper and silly, frustrated that he couldn't break through it. "Listen, I was hoping we could talk – catch up a little – but if you're not interested—"

"No—" she interrupted him suddenly. "I would like that." He looked dubious, trying to read her expression but still unsure if she was being sincere or simply polite. "Really, I would." She shook her head a little, as if trying to dislodge something inside. "I'm sorry, Byron, I'm not sure…" there she trailed off, and instead took his arm, leading him to sit with her on the old iron bench under the willow. The very same one they'd sat upon the second day she'd known him, and so many times after, they few weeks they'd spent in Boston over summers past.

He sat silently, deciding if she really wanted to talk, she could begin the conversation herself. She sat primly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Waiting for her, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she was worrying her lip, something he hadn't seen all day, and it eased his frustration a little, seeing her do something so natural to her.

Finally, she spoke, softly, uncertainly. "It's been so long, Byron. I'm not sure…" A thousand possible endings to her sentence ran through her head, and she didn't know what to say. She shook her head again, slightly, and he noticed in that moment the way her glossy curls swayed at the back of her head, and travelling down, the way the familiar little wisps curled around her face and neck in a very sweet way, the pale pink of her cheeks, how familiarly pretty she was with the shrubs and flowers behind her, and his resistence melted a little. He felt like he was starting to see the real her again, and it felt good. She went on, her voice rising out of his musings. "I suppose I just don't know where to begin." She looked at him, and he could see she was looking for him to understand, but he wanted to push her, challenge her, test her a little.

"We've been writing letters, Michaela."

"I know, but letters can only say so much."

"I guess."

She searched his face, his eyes, finding the usually vibrant blue a bit shadowed, seeing a little challenge there, too. "We were only children last time we saw each other, Byron. Don't you think… Well I certainly didn't know what I was going to encounter when I saw you today." She stood abruptly, stopping a few steps away, her back to him.

Her comment and this movement infuriated him – couldn't she see herself? He stood, taking a step toward her. "What do you mean by that?"

She turned, and when she looked at him, her eyes were blazing, and even though he knew she was indignant, it was inexplicably comforting to him.

"I mean you're… you're so… polished, so stylish. You never used to care about that, about society. Were you really going to kiss my hand?" It was a statement more than a question, as if she couldn't believe he would do such a thing to her.

"Well you sure looked pleased when Johann did—"

"You're not Johann…" she whispered, but he went on without pausing.

"And you think I'm polished? Look at you, all stiff and proper. Shaking hands is a little formal too, don't you think? Where are you?" She looked at him quizzically, obviously she was right in front of him. "No, Michaela, where are you? Where's Mike, where's that girl who doesn't care so much about propriety, who's got that big smile? Where's my best friend?"

His words stung. It hurt to hear him say she wasn't herself, when that was all she wanted to be. It was just so hard… "What about you? You're not exactly the same either, Byron. Clearly the academy has—"

"This has nothing to do with the academy, Michaela. Maybe I've grown up some, maybe we both have, but that doesn't mean I'm any different. I just want to know if all summer's going to be like this, or if we're going to be able to be civil to each other."

She was furious now, completely overcome by her shifting emotions. "That depends on you as much as me, Byron. I haven't changed either. I just… why don't you write as much anymore? Why are you so distant in your letters?"

He clenched his jaw. "I've been wondering the same about you. After I went west—"

"Yes, that's when it began. Byron, if you have other friends…" He looked at her as if she had accused him of betraying her. "If you have other friends, that's all right. Maybe we won't always be best friends, but I would think we could at least—"

He held up his hand. "Hold on a second. I didn't say that, so don't go putting words in my mouth. That's not it at all. I mean of course I have other friends, but that doesn't mean they're my best friends. _You're_ my best friend, Michaela, at least you always have been. This all started—"

"I don't think either of us know where this started, Byron," she giggled tentatively, waiting to see if he would see the humor, but he just stared at her. "You think I started it, I thought you did, and clearly we both feel… distance. Maybe we both just misunderstood something, somewhere…"

She watched his eyes soften and warm as he looked at her, and she smiled in return to his. She glanced toward the house, seeing no one visible in the windows or the porch, and stepped forward to hug him, her arms moving around his torso. He knew she wasn't allowed to do this, and accepted the gesture greedily, hugging her slight form tightly. He was still confused, but at least it was clear they were still best friends.


	16. Chapter 15

**AN – the delay couldn't be helped folks, though I'm very sorry – I know it is annoying to wait, trust me, I do. Thanks for your understanding on the forum! **

**As you'll recall, last chapter reunited 17 year old M&S in Boston for a summer serving the poor of the city, both questioning the strength of their friendship after 3 years of dwindling letter-writing following their summer in Maine. But of course, that chapter ended with a hug, sweet, if not desperate **

Chapter 16 is on its way sooner rather than later – I've got to make it up to you somehow

Chapter 15

Sully stood in front of the mirror in the elaborate guest room he'd been assigned in the Quinn's home, trying to tame his wavy hair. He'd grown used to using hair cream at the academy, but Michaela's reaction to his looks yesterday bothered him. He brushed a curl back from his forehead, watching it spring right back down. The nice thing about the cream was, it kept his hair under control. Shrugging at his reflection, he reached for his jacket, pulling it on over his shirt, and pulled his fingers once more through his hair.

Michaela slipped quietly down the stairs, having dressed as simply as she could, looking forward to a quiet breakfast in the kitchen while Martha prepared something more formal for the rest of the household. Since that summer in Maine, she'd been in the habit of breakfasting early in the kitchen in the summers, a bit of an escape from the formality Elizabeth insisted upon the rest of the year. She would sit at the end of the butcher block counter near the window, watching Martha cook, sipping hot coffee and savoring the fresh scone or roll Martha would hand her fresh from the oven.

She had turned over yesterday's conversation with Sully in her head all evening, and she still couldn't shake it from her mind. She knew that it had been inappropriate to hug him, but at the time, she hadn't known what else to do, wanting desperately to resolve the dissonance that filled the air between them and her heart as well. And while she would have expected hugging him to bring her comfort nonetheless, it left her feeling unsettled. She had felt as if she were clinging to something, something she couldn't be positive was even there any more, and that faith, offering that blind, reckless faith in something she couldn't see or prove, frightened her. Working with her father, she had become accustomed to a measure of reason, of scientific assessment and proof, and somehow none of that applied to Sully.

Turning the corner into the sunny, sparkling clean kitchen, Michaela paused only slightly when she saw Sully sitting at the counter, cradling a cup of coffee in his palms, a sticky bun steaming on a plate before him. Though they had begun these early breakfasts together, she hadn't considered that he might rejoin them now; it hadn't even been mentioned. Recovering quickly, she moved toward her favorite stool closest to the window, next to Sully.

"Morning," he stated simply, his voice warm and welcoming, and then sipped from his cup.

"Good morning, Byron. Martha." She smiled slightly, smoothing her skirts.

"Good morning, Miss. There you are, dear, eat up." Martha placed a steaming cup and plate in front of Michaela, and turned back to the stove.  
Michaela glanced at Sully out of the corner of her eye, and blushed when he caught her, smiling uneasily. He smiled, wondering how long it would be before she allowed herself to be comfortable with him again. He washed a bite of his breakfast down with coffee, and cleared his throat.

"So, where are we going this morning?"

The flat sat on a narrow alley, where small children in ragged clothes played hide and seek amongst old crates and low-hanging clotheslines laden with dingy garments and rags. Josef, Johann, Michaela, and Sully had to wait only a minute before Mrs. Batdorf came to the small door, which hung precariously on its hinges.

Entering the small, dank, stuffy room, it became apparent that they would spend most of the day here. Three women and an elderly man lay weezing on pallets along the far wall, and several children with pale, resigned faces gazed listlessly at the small square of sunlight which came through the solitary window. Mrs. Batdorf, apparently, was caring for them all.

Michaela's heart went out to each soul immediately, and she knew she needed to think like a doctor, think logically, assess the greatest need. As she attempted to do so, her father and Johann began to work, their practiced minds processing information faster than Michaela's. She followed, finding a basin of relatively clean water and dipping her own handkerchief in it to swab a young boy's forehead.

Sully watched for a moment, feeling overwhelmed at the sickness in this one small room, and not knowing how to help. He looked around at the makeshift kitchen, the dingy ticks on the floor, the broken wall panels, the rickety furniture. He had known there were people in Boston who lived like this, like he had once lived, but he hadn't seen it before. Shadowy images and memories flooded his mind and heart, and he looked back to Johann, who was administering medicine to the old man. Josef and Michaela were bent over a little girl, Michaela holding her head so Josef could help her drink some milky-looking water. They looked like they were in control of the situation, so he slowly backed out of the room. He had something he needed to do.

Michaela looked up in time to see the door close behind Sully, and indignation rose in her blood. Again, she chided herself for the reckless faith she had afforded him yesterday. Maybe things had changed, after all.

"Byron? Are you out here?" Michaela ventured tentatively off the porch and into the garden. The bench beneath the willow was vacant – their bench – and she didn't see him elsewhere, but he had to be out here, she could feel it.

"Byron?" She looked behind trees, bushes, venturing back into the small cherry orchard where her mother liked to read in the spring when the trees were blooming. Giving up, she turned to go inside, feeling let down. Where could he have gone?

"Wait. Michaela." She turned, at his sudden voice, following the sound to see him perched on a knotty branch not too far above her in one of the oldest trees. "Hey." His voice was quiet, a little sad.

"Hello, Byron…" she stepped toward him, searching his face. "Are you alright?"

He smiled a little, one side of his mouth raising – she was so sensitive, always knowing when the slightest thing was amiss.

"I'm okay. Just thinking about today."

"I wanted to apologize to you for earlier..."

"For what?" He thought back, over the day's events. She had been warm toward him, more herself, more familiar, than she had been since he'd arrived.

"…when you left, I… I must confess that I was angry with you…" she looked down at her hands, her fingers clenched together, clearly uncomfortable. "I… I thought you were leaving because you were uncomfortable, or disgusted, and I couldn't believe you would do that, you would feel that way…" She looked up at him, and he saw tears sparkling in her eyes, those beautiful, shimmering eyes that had captured him from the beginning. "And then you came back with all those supplies…" she gestured with her hands, throwing them out at her sides. "Byron, I've never seen people so grateful for simple boards and nails, but you… you helped them, taught them, gave them tools, so they could help themselves in the future. It… it was so wonderful to watch, and I was so proud of you, to be your friend. And at the same time I was ashamed that I could have assumed the worst when you are clearly a better person than that…" At this, one large tear rolled down her cheek.

Sully slid from the tree, coming to stand before her.

"It's alright," he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at her tears, which she was desperately trying to blink away. "It's okay… you didn't know."

She shook her head, feeling foolish and emotional, laughing a little.

"I just… I always try to give people the benefit of the doubt, but…"

"Hey, it's ok. It's been a while since we've spent much time together, and I didn't tell you where I was going. A lot of people would have been put off I guess…" At that, she could see he fell deep into thought as they walked through the garden together, eventually settling on the bench beneath the willow.

After several minutes during which he continued to brood, she turned to him, her voice gentle. "Byron? What are you thinking about?"

He sighed, the shadowy images of earlier in the day had taken on more definition as the day progressed, and were dancing around a dull ache behind his eyes. "Seeing those people today, how they had to live, made me think of my family… before the Nordheims… my real family."

"Oh Byron," she whispered, the reality of his difficult past hitting her hard, "I didn't know."

He nodded. "We've never talked about it," his voice was quiet, lacking any accusation.

"I've always thought it too difficult for you to speak of…" Their eyes met, and he smiled slightly, sapphire, jade, and amber melting together in that moment.

"It's ok. I want to tell you." He looked down at his feet, the refined, polished leather transforming to thin, ill-fitting boots before his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at her again, and her soft eyes reassured him.

"We lived in a room just like that in New York, on an alley just like that. My mother always tried to keep it clean, but things were always old and breaking, and we couldn't afford new ones. My parents came from England – I was born on the ship somewhere out there."

"You were?"

"Yep. My papa was a farmer, he loved the land with all his heart, but the land he'd heard about just wasn't there when they got here and he had to try to find a job in the city. He moved from job to job for a while before my mother said his heart just gave out. I don't even remember him. I was real little when he passed on."

She gently touched his shoulder, offering him some measure of comfort.

"I had a brother – Will – he was always out running around with the older boys in our neighborhood, trying to be like them. I followed him one day – I always wanted to know what he was doing – and they dared him to jump on the back of this horse hitched to a carriage and ride it around the block before the owner came back. They were all laughing, watching him trying to figure out how to get up there. Trouble was, it spooked the horse, and he got caught in all those reigns and hitches, and got drug and trampled to death. I saw it all and I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop it." His voice broke, and the dull ache became a deafening, painful thud. He dropped his head in his hands, biting back the pain.

Michaela chose not to speak, slowly rubbing circles on his back in what she knew was a futile attempt to comfort him.

"And then my mother…" he spoke in a raspy voice from his hunched position, and Michaela interrupted him.

"Byron, you don't have to say anymore…"

"No, I need to...want to. I want you to know…" he sat up, and she brushed the hair away from his face before she realized what she was doing, and propriety regained its rigid control of her. Retracting her hand, she leaned back, waiting.

"…she went to work one morning – she was cleaning houses for a few families across the river – and when she was coming back over the bridge, over the Hudson, someone lost control of their horse, there was an accident, and somehow she got thrown off the bridge. Someone went in after her, but they couldn't find her soon enough, and she…" the words died on his lips, and Michaela shuddered. The boy she'd met in the tree all those years ago, he had experienced so much trauma, had carried it with him in silence. Now he turned to her, so much pain in his countenance, and she drew him toward her, holding him against her shoulder, whispering apologies to him soothingly.

He tried to focus on her scent, the cool smoothness of her hair against his temple, the warmth of her skin, but he couldn't control the ache any more. Gasping, he buried his eyes in her shoulder.

"Michaela. Michaela, you've got to get Johann." She pulled back, stunned. "Go get Johann, please. I need him. Tell him I need him."  
"Byron, what…?"

"Just go. Please, Michaela." He pushed her away with his hands, pushing her toward the house.

With that, she turned and rushed toward her father's office only to find it empty, searching the downstairs and not finding him, then flying up the staircase to the Nordheim's room. She knocked loudly, calling to him through the paneled door.

Within minutes, Johann had Sully in bed in a dark room, drinking peppermint tea to soothe his stomach. Josie sat next to him as Johann administered his treatment, and she swabbed a cool cloth over his forehead.

Michaela paced in the hallway, cursing her femaleness for preventing her entry into Sully's room, her eyes barely leaving his door. Johann emerged, and she hurried toward him.

"Dr. Nordheim, what's wrong with him? Is he terribly ill?" Worry was evident in her face.

He placed a kindly hand on her shoulder, smiling gently. "No dear, it's called a megrim – a sever headache. They're caused by stress for the most part. He's had them for as long as we've known him, though spending time out of doors seems to help him. I don't know what brought this attack on, perhaps his time in the poor district today."

"No." Michaela looked down, speaking softly. "He was telling me about his family I'm afraid, about how they…"

Johann held up his hand, excusing her from completing her sentence. "Aah, I see. It's good he told you my dear, it helps him come to terms with it I think." Seeing her troubled expression unchanging, he ducked his head to catch her gaze. "Perhaps tomorrow after a good night's sleep the two of you could do something leisurely – explore the city or go to the shore. A little physical activity will do him good, as will a little respite from life's more serious circumstances."

A smile grew on Michaela's face and she nodded. A poster she'd seen on her way to the hospital last week flashed in her mind, and she determined to speak to her father about it after supper.


	17. Chapter 16

**AN: Sorry for the delay. This is a long one…yay for you! Sorry it took me so long ... I just couldn't release it to you yet because I kept thinking of things to add, or tweak, and now it's long, but I couldn't split it up, and I still don't know if I'm totally happy with it, but i decided I just need to let it go, so…2 days late and 2 dollars short, here you go!**

**And… Chapter 17 will make you happy…trust me!**

Chapter 16

Michaela sat uncomfortably next to Sully in the carriage, her eyes in her lap, conscious of David Lewis seated opposite her. It was a warm day, and quite humid, and the heat only exacerbated her current state of agitation.

When Johann had mentioned a day of leisure for Sully, she had immediately thought that she and Sully should go to the museum of art today, to see the exhibit of photographs from the Wild West. She knew he would love it, having enjoyed his time on the frontier two summers ago. Her father had approved, and her mother had insisted upon a chaperone, concerned as she always was with appearances and propriety, and a young, single lady was not to be seen about town alone with a young, single man, no matter the truth of the circumstances.

She had known better than to argue – it would do her no good – but she had been again disappointed that the issues of gender and chaperones would keep them from spending time as they pleased. Regardless, it had been decided that Sully would stay at home and rest and Michaela would return from the poor district after lunch to spend the remainder of the day with him. She was appeased only slightly by the fact that Sully hadn't left his room since he entered it yesterday evening, and thus knew nothing of her wishes to go to the museum nor the frustrating discussion that cast them aside.

It was then, however, that the Lewis' had appeared. Dr. Lewis was keen to join Josef and Johann in treating the poor, and he had brought David, a medical student, along with him for some, as they termed it, 'hands on experience.'

As they stood exchanging polite greetings in the foyer, Elizabeth had had the brilliant idea that David could accompany Sully and Michaela to the museum. Elizabeth had always been fond of the Lewis family, and young David was the epitomy of Boston propriety and charm, and seemed to have a truly kind heart as well. Perhaps some time with Michaela would do them both some good. David, for his part, had jumped at the opportunity, having always been captivated by Michaela's intelligence and strength of character when he'd seen her at this social function or that in the past, and Michaela, though embarrassed that David might assume she and Sully needed a chaperone due to the nature of their relationship, accepted.

It was at that moment that Sully, still oblivious to everything, had appeared descending the stairs, looking refreshed, if not a little tired. Before Michaela could explain, introductions were made and the three young people were deposited much like cargo into a carriage and sent off toward the museum. Sully had covered his bewilderment, and concurrent frustration, well, Michaela thought, though she could sense it quite clearly. What she couldn't understand was the way he had glared at David. She was sure they'd never met before, and she'd always known David to be a perfect gentleman. She was relieved to see that David seemed oblivious to Sully's disapproval, but nonetheless, she felt anxious about the prospect of keeping the peace all day.

Sully jumped from the carriage to help Michaela down more quickly than was his habit, and then offered her his arm as they approached the door. This too was a bit unusual for Sully, but she dismissed it as normal social convention.

Inside, the three wandered about the exhibits more or less independently, David showing interest in the methods by which progress and industry entered the frontier, Sully reading about social politics and Indians, and Michaela fascinated with it all. She stopped next to Sully, who was engrossed in a lengthy caption under what looked to be a photograph of an Indian chief.

She leaned toward him a little, whispering so as not to disturb other museum patrons. "Who is that?"

"Chief Tiloukaikt of the Cayuse Indians, in the Oregon Territory," he whispered, and continued to read about the self-described martyr of the chief, ignoring her completely.

She sighed quietly, becoming frustrated with the closed demeanor he had assumed all morning. "What's wrong?" she whispered, ready to move past this so they could enjoy the museum.

"Nothing."

"Byron," she scolded in a harsh whisper.

Sully glanced around, making sure David was still well across the room from them.

"Do you like him?"

"David? Of course I do, he's—"

"No. Do you _like_ him – are you sweet on him?"

"I beg your pardon?" Her eyes were defiant, and he knew she was implying it was none of his business. He just stared at her, waiting for an answer.

She shook her head, scoffing a little. "No, I'm not. He's very kind, but he's just a friend, much like you are."

Sully ignored the pang in his chest, trying to sound unaffected. "Like me?" He couldn't quite keep the disbelief from his voice.

"No, I mean… David and I aren't close like you and I; we hardly know each other, really. I just mean we're not interested in each other like… you know."

Sully nodded in understanding. Though cool on the outside, his heart was racing. "Well," he discreetly nodded toward David, "he is. You should be more careful."

"Careful? I—"

Sully's sharp but nearly invisible shake of head made her stop, and she heard David behind her.

"Michaela, Sully, are you two finished? There's a lovely little café around the corner, I thought perhaps we could share a little lunch before heading back to Beacon Hill."

Michaela nodded and smiled politely, feeling suddenly self-conscious of her behaviour, though she still believed Sully's opinion unfounded. "Certainly. Byron, are you ready?" Her tone was distant, overly polite.

He looked down the length of the wall, a line of photographs he hadn't been able to see yet, and was now no longer interested in, staring back at him. He turned to her, and recognizing the walls erected in her eyes, knew he'd hurt her. Why did this, this, hurting each other, keep happening?

Later, the Nordheims and Quinns sat in the parlor after supper, the men enjoying a light nightcap while the ladies worked on their embroidery. Michaela, usually enthusiastically involved in the conversation, sat silently working on a small bonnet for the little niece or nephew Maureen would soon bring into the world. Sully watched her worry her bottom lip, knowing she was playing over their earlier conversation, and wishing they could talk, but unable to pull her away.

After a little while, she set her needlework aside and excused herself to bed. Sully watched her go, wishing they could talk, but knowing he couldn't look for another opportunity until tomorrow.

Michaela smiled gratefully at Martha as she placed a cup of strong coffee in front of her.

"Thank you, Martha."

"You're welcome, dear," she said, mentally noting the grayish smudges beneath the girl's eyes. "Drink up child, you've a long day ahead of you."

Michaela savored a sip, her distant gaze focused on a knot in the butcher-block counter. Martha watched her, a little concerned, but knowing it wasn't her place to interfere. Walking past her to the icebox, she patted the slender shoulder comfortingly, and returned to the stove, humming as she worked.

Sully came in then, looking calm as usual, and sat next to Michaela, whose eyes remained uncomfortably focused on the grain of the wooden counter.

He bumped her shoulder gently with his. "Morning," he said quietly, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

Michaela looked at him inquisitively for a moment, smiling slightly when Martha brought Sully his coffee, then looked back at her cup, the caramel colored liquid apparently fascinating her. "Good morning," she whispered.

They sat like that, silently watching Martha move about the kitchen, for a while, until Sully cleared his throat. "Hey, have you seen that sparrow's nest in the orchard?"

"Sparrow's nest? No…" she looked at him perplexed.

"Come on, let me show you," he stood, and held her elbow to help her stand, too. "I've never seen one like it before."

"Now? Byron…" She held back, not understanding his intentions.

"It'll just take a minute. Come on." He pulled her arm a little, encouraging her to go with him.

She shook her head, "Alright, if we must go now…"

Sully led them out toward the orchard, but she stopped when they were halfway there. "There is no nest, is there Byron?"

He looked at her sheepishly. "No. I just wanted us to talk. After yesterday…"

She shook her head. "I don't know what you mean by advising me to be careful, Byron. I have never given him cause to believe I'm interested in, in… courting him." The last she breathed in a hushed tone, embarrassment flushing her cheeks lightly with pink.

"Maybe not intentionally. But he likes you Michaela, it's as clear as day. I could see him swell up when you smiled at him, agreed with him…" she turned from him, completely embarrassed, walking further toward the orchard. Sully followed, and touched her shoulder, causing her to turn to look at him again. "I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I just thought you should know he's interested."

Her eyes flashed, defiance burning hotly there. "And what if I'm interested in him as well?"

Sully scoffed. "Fine." His voice rose a little.

Her voice rose in response, unsure where her anger was coming from. "Fine? Is that it? Or are you jealous?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, Byron. You write to me that you're fond of Carrie, that you care about the same things, that you're considering courting her… that she wants to go west, too. Nevermind that you never had going west in mind until that summer. And then you meet David, and you dislike him from the start, before you even know him. And it bothers you that he might be fond of me, that practically the only man anywhere near my age who doesn't write me off as soon as he learns my ambitions might have feelings for me?"

"It sounds like you're jealous, Mike."

The use of her nickname after all this time felt like an insult, and her fury rose a notch, rendering her almost speechless. Almost.

"You're turning it all around!" She spun around and took a deep breath, trying to pinpoint where her frustration lie, and finding it, faced him, her voice much calmer. "It's not jealousy, Byron, it's… I'm… I'm worried about you."

He scoffed again, sitting down and leaning against the nearest tree.

"Tell me, Byron, _why_ does she want to go west?"

"Bacause. She wants to see it, the untamed wilderness. She wants… adventure."

"And you? Why do you want to go? What happened to the children's home you were going to build?"

"We already talked about this, Michaela."

"I know. Tell me again."

"Going west is the same thing, just helping different people. They're pushing Indians around out there," he gestured widely with his arm, as if displaying the western horizon before her, "you saw some of it today. They're killing them, making it impossible for them to survive." His voice was passionate, angry, then softer. "I want to help them find a way to live in peace and keep the things that are important to them."

Michaela nodded, her own tone softening as she lowered herself to her knees before him.

"Oh Byron, don't you see? You want to help people, to make their lives better. But Carrie, she wants adventure, she wants—"

He cut her off, not willing to hear this nonsense about Carrie. He didn't care about Carrie. "I'm turning it around? What about you? What does this all have to do with you making David think you like him?"

With this solitary statement he shut her out, and they both knew it. Michaela stared disbelievingly at him, feeling suddenly alone. He was refusing to listen, and for the first time since they'd met, she felt as if their friendship was irreparably damaged.

"Nothing. It has nothing to do with David." She stood slowly, smoothing her skirt, looking slowly around her, anywhere but at him. "I… I have some things I need to prepare before we leave today," she whispered in no direction in particular. Then, looking at him for a long moment, she turned and went inside.

Sully sat staring fixedly into the empty fireplace in his room. A few candles were lit around the room, and the breeze from the open window caused the flames to flicker silently on their wicks. After that last argument, the reamining two months of their summer had passed without incident, though the lack of incident had been more disheartening than a thousand arguments would have been.

For two weeks after, Michaela had been polite, considerate even, but distant. They put in long hours in their assistance the poor, and often worked together – Michaela holding a board in place while he drove a nail, Sully comforting a small boy while Michaela administered a vaccination – but there had been no warmth between them outside of their work, no personal conversation, no talks in the garden.

Michaela had attended an Independence Day ball, looking lovely in a cobalt blue gown, with David, and Sully was convinced she did it to prove him wrong. He had foregone the event, choosing to stay home. He had seen the look in David's eyes, though, when Michaela emerged in her dress, and he had seen the excitement in Michaela's. What if she did like him? He was a nice man, kind and considerate, proud of Michaela's ambitions, and he was set to be a doctor, too, they would have that in common. Something about him grated on Sully though, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Regardless, there wasn't a chance she would talk to him about it now, so he tried his hardest to let it go and focus on repairing their friendship.

It had taken every ounce of effort he had and the remainder of the summer to rebuild her trust in him, and then their closeness. And finally today, today had been wonderful. He had asked her about vaccinations, how they worked, and somehow that had opened a door in her that he hadn't been allowed to enter since they were fourteen. It wasn't really what they'd talked about, but how they'd talked. She had confided in him – it was that subtle something in her tone that told him she didn't talk like this with everyone – and they'd connected on a level that still amazed him, several hours later. It almost felt as if they were the same person; he felt understood and appreciated, and he felt as if he understood and appreciated her, too.

He felt giddy with the joy of it, and at the same time, devastated that he and his parents had to leave in the morning to go back to New York, prepare for his first year in college, catch up on the chores around the estate before he left. Just when everything was as it should be, they would be separated again. He sighed. How could he leave her again? What if she went off to college, medical school, got married, and they never saw each other again? He knew her summers would be full of studying and internships now more than ever, and he would likely be busy, too, pursuing his career and helping Johann and Josie when he could. Would this be the end? But it couldn't be. The bond they had—

His head snapped around when he heard a faint sound in the hallway. Straining his ears, all was silent, and then he heard it again, a soft knock on his door.

"Byron?" came her whisper.

He rose quickly, grateful he'd chosen to wear his full pajamas tonight, and cracked the door a little to be sure it was her before letting her in. She entered without a word, their eyes communicating all the greeting that was necessary, and she stopped in the middle of the room, thinking, her back to him, white nightgown glowing in the moonlight.

She turned slowly to face him, her eyes dark and luminous in the dim room, and it struck him that he hadn't seen her in her nightclothes since the first night he slept in this house, over seven years ago. Her hair was down, like a soft cloud framing her torso, and she looked small and vulnerable as she looked at him.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She smiled a little, one side of her lips turning up, and cast her eyes away shyly. "Yes," she breathed, smiling wider now. They looked at each other for another moment before she felt compelled to break the silence.

"You're leaving tomorrow…" she whispered, and he nodded, blue eyes showing navy and sad. She shook her head, "I'm not ready." Her hushed voice shook, and he swallowed hard. He stepped closer to her.

"Me either. It's like we're just now ready to start the summer…" He stepped closer again, and took a chance, hugging her closely. "I'm going to miss you, Michaela," his voice was a hoarse whisper in her hair, and she pressed her eyes against his shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent, trying to hold back the tears she felt pricking her eyes.

He held her for only a moment, but it was long enough for him to realize she must have forgotten her robe, to feel the fine material of her nightgown, the way it gathered beneath his fingers, the way the smooth curves of her body warmed the cotton. The sensation made him want to follow those curves with his palms, see where they went, and realizing the nature of his thoughts he pulled away, ashamed that he would think about Michaela like that. Michaela, his best friend. Michaela, who felt so at peace in that moment, holding and being held by him. She felt warmth and strength and peace, and a feeling of unity, of connectedness she'd always found in Sully, sometimes bright and shining, other times hovering just below the surface, but always there, always waiting.

Letting go of each other, they were silent for a moment, eyes like darkened forests meeting those like starlit skies, like they were meant to meet, in truth and in metaphor. After a moment, Michaela dropped her eyes, and raised them again as she withdrew a small envelope from a pocket of her gown and handed it to Sully.

His eyes questioned hers. "What's this?"

She smiled. "Open it."

He grinned, and broke the seal to extract a formal portrait of her, her face turned slightly away from the camera, but her eyes looking directly at him. It wasn't the perfect image of her, not as true to life as it could be, but it was her.

"It was taken a while ago, but… I thought you might like to have it, to remember me by."

He nodded once. "Of course I do. Thank you. I just wish I could give you one."

She smiled, and shook her head. "It's alright. I'll remember you."

The mention of remembrance made him think of saying goodbye to her in the morning, and it was coming too soon. The smile faded from his face. "Listen, Michaela. I know we never resolved that thing about David and Carrie, and that's ok." His eyes held hers, and she waited for what else he was going to say. "I want you to promise me something though." He looked down, searching and hoping for the right words, and when he looked up, her eyes were waiting expectantly for his. "Promise me you won't go courting with somebody unless you're as good of friends with him as you are with me right now. And I'll make the same promise to you."

"Byron…"

"I'm serious, Michaela. Because once one of us starts courting, we can't be friends like we are now, and it would kill me to think you might marry someone who didn't really understood you deep down."

"I don't know if I'll ever find that with anyone else, Byron. The friendship we have—"

He nodded, swallowing hard. "It's something special."

She nodded. "It is. And if we never find someone? Then what? I don't want to be single for the rest of my life…"

"If we don't find someone by the time we're twenty-five, we'll marry each other."

"Byron, that's…"

"Don't you think marrying your best friend is better than an arranged marriage to someone you barely know? At least then, we would know what we're getting into."

She studied him for a minute, reluctant to concede given all of the logistical problems with his plan, but then realized how ridiculous this was anyway. Throwing her analytical mind to the wind, she nodded, setting a neutral expression.

"Fine. Twenty-eight."

"What?"

"Make it twenty-eight. I'm going to be so engrossed in my studies, I may not have time to look until then." There was a twinkle in her eye now, and he knew she was playing with him. He wondered if she realized how serious he was, but he didn't want to push. This was hypothetical, after all.

"Twenty-eight it is, then. Shake on it," and he held out his hand.

She giggled quietly, shaking his hand heartily. Her expression fell, and she looked up at him again. "I'm still not ready for you to leave tomorrow."

"Maybe we never would be. I'm so glad we had this summer, Michaela. All of it. The hard things, too."

"Me too," she breathed, smiling softly. "And you'll write?"

"Of course. Won't you?"

"Yes," she laughed, her eyes sparkling up at him. His heart warmed, and he hoped, he really hoped, it was true. That they would stay in touch.

"Good." There eyes held for a moment, minds wandering over the past, the unknown future, and this moment. "Are you still coming to see us off in the morning?" He wasn't ready to say goodbye quite yet.

She nodded, "I'll come. I just wanted to talk to you again without everyone rushing us. I'm just… I'm so grateful for your friendship, Byron."

He hugged her again. "Me too, Michaela. Me too."


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The following morning, Michaela and Josef stood on the train platform, waiting as the Nordheims checked their luggage with the porter. Rejoining, hugs were exchanged and best wishes given. Sully hugged Michaela lightly, though tenderly, respecting propriety's boundaries but needing to communicate his feelings. It felt strange, saying goodbye, as if they were leaving something unfinished, something which simply couldn't be finished in the time they had left. They exchanged few words, having said what they could last night, and then he was gone.

Michaela leaned against the patio railing, straining to see the stars through the lush garden foliage. It had been some time since her thoughts had turned to Sully: he'd gone to college shortly after they had parted, and they'd exchanged letters during that time, though not many. Then, Josie and Johann had passed away within a month of each other, leaving Sully alone. He'd travelled briefly to Scandinavia to resolve some family business related to Johann's will, and they'd hardly written since then. She wasn't sure how he'd coped with losing two more parents, perhaps badly, she didn't really know.

But she had been absorbed herself in college and then medical school, and now establishing her role in her father's practice. Looking back, their correspondence seemed a blur, and she couldn't remember who wrote last, or how long ago it had been. She thought of writing him far more often than she actually had, but something had held her back. Perhaps not knowing how to address his loss, perhaps not knowing if he had pursued Carrie and gone west, or married someone else. It wouldn't be appropriate for her to write to a married man, and she was just never sure. After a while, she supposed her letters wouldn't even get to him as he was sure to have deserted the estate for his westward move, and she just gave up altogether.

She wasn't sure how long it had been since they'd exchanged their last letter – five years or more she supposed, and in truth she'd filed his memory away in her mind in order to ease the feelings of loss in her heart. It had been months since she'd allowed something to remind her of her long lost and dearest friend, and tonight, standing on the balcony in an elaborate pearl-colored ball gown, a hundred of Boston society's elite dancing inside, she thought of him.

David had asked to be allowed to court her, finally. She'd always known it was coming, though she had been reluctant to admit it even to herself. But Sully had been right. She'd allowed her mother to pressure her into attending this benefit, and then into dancing with a number of eligible bachelors, each of whom graciously excused themselves as soon as could be considered polite upon learning her profession. Then, David had appeared, and she thought she'd been rescued from the her ridiculous predicament. And he had taken her aside and asked to call upon her, and Sully's eyes had come to mind, those sincere blue eyes that were so discerning of the truth. He'd known, all those years ago. And what was more, Sully would have known how frustrated she was this evening, how much she hated and was embarrassed by the attentions and rejections of the closed-minded men she'd danced with, that now wasn't the time to make such a request. He would have told David to wait, that now wasn't the time. But that was just it – Sully knew her, and David, despite the hundreds of hours they'd accumulated working together pro bono at the hospital, didn't.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the freedom of the cool, quiet night air she'd found not twenty feet from the ballroom. She hoped David would leave, that she wouldn't have to face him again tonight. She needed time to reflect, to decide how she should interact with him from now on.

The French doors slamming open behind her startled her out of her reverie, and she couldn't prevent her head jerking around to see a gentleman stride through the doors, and then stop in his tracks when he found he wasn't alone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was out here…" he held up his hand in apology, and began to back up toward the doors.

"Oh, that's alright," she said, seeing he was leaving, and turned back to look over the garden.

The curve of her lips and sheen of her hair caught his eye though, and he paused, tilting his head to try to see her face better, though she was facing away from him.

"Michaela?" He hardly dared speak it out loud, as sure he was wrong as he was sure he was right.

She turned, startled to hear the stranger speak her first name. "Yes?" Her eyes studied his, widening when she thought she saw something familiar, her lips parting in disbelief.

He chuckled on a short breath, smiling widely now. "It's me—"

"Byron?"

"Yeah," he laughed, "but I go by Sully now…" He looked at her, this lovely, radiant creature that was unmistakably his Michaela, but so much more beautiful than ever before. God, but she was breathtaking. Her eyes, those incredible eyes, so lustrous and expressive, more gemlike than ever in their respective tones. The slight form she'd always had was still delicate, but her curves more defined now, carried more gracefully. The gown she wore suited her perfectly, the sheen of the satin making her flawless skin glow and accentuating the small curve of her waist, the appealing turn of her bare shoulders. Large, glossy ringlets touched the graceful arch of her neck, and his fingers remembered how they silky had felt under the coastal sky so many summers ago.

She nodded, knowing he'd never liked his given name, taking in the long waves of his hair, falling just above his shoulders, his face more rugged than before and though still familiar, more pronounced, masculine, handsome. He was broader than before, too; he looked strong and capable. But the boy who was her best friend was there in his blue eyes, as vivid as ever, in his truest and purest and best form, and recognizing that, she grinned, feeling as if she'd suddenly arrived home.

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. "After all this time," she whispered, wiping a tear away, "It's been…"

"Nine years," he answered for her, "I should've written…" he trailed off, not knowing how to explain.

She bit her lip, feeling ashamed, "so should I…"

They were silent for a moment, neither really knowing what to say next, their minds racing with questions, and he came to stand next to her, both leaning against the railing to gaze at the sky. A few stars were beginning to emerge, dimmed by the lamps glowing brightly around them.

"I'm sorry about the Nordheims, Byr—Sully. I can't imagine what it was like for you…" She turned her eyes to his, and found only tenderness there.

"Thanks. I miss them but… I'm just so glad for what they gave me, the time we had as a family. They saved my life, I think. I don't know if I ever thanked you… Without you…"

A tear leaked from her eye, and they both smiled as she wiped it away.

"You did," she whispered, a little embarrassed.

"You must be practicing with Josef by now," he changed the subject, curious to know about her, and saw a professional demeanor enter her countenance.

"Yes, I am. It was a difficult road, finding a school that would take me, but I attended the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania, and I've been practicing alongside Father for several months now, and pro bono at the hospital as well, and it's been so rewarding." She was glowing with passion for her work, and he knew it meant the world to her.

"I always knew you'd make it. You're stronger than you know." She dropped her eyes, self-conscious.

"And you? Have you been out west?"

He nodded, looking back out toward the garden. "Quite a bit. I'm a negotiator – working for the government – I travel back and forth, where I'm needed."

"I'm sure you're wonderful at it."

"I just want to help people come to peace on things, see each other's perspectives. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm doing any good at all—"

"Mike!" Josef broke through the doors at that moment, his booming voice causing them both to turn with a start. "There you are, my dear! Tell me, have you seen—" he stopped short, Sully having become visible to him from behind a topiary as he came closer. "Well, I should have known you'd find each other! I hate to interrupt your reacquaintance, but they're asking for you in there, Mr. Sully." Josef smiled with pride, so pleased to see Sully so well respected for his knowledge and wisdom concerning the westward movement.

Michaela looked at him in shock. "You're the surprise speaker?"

He grinned boyishly. "Guess so."

Sully sat outside the hospital, waiting for Michaela. They hadn't been able to talk much more last night, as he'd been bombarded by questions after his brief speech, and watched her leave over a man's shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to board the train back to New York just yet; he wanted to see her again.

He regretted now not having written her… it had made sense at the time, but now, now it just seemed foolish. Climbing aboard the train that morning so long ago, he'd recognized in himself feelings for her which went beyond simple friendship, and embraced them for the duration of the trip home, dwelling on them, on her. As the hours passed, however, he'd recognized his own foolishness, and tamped his feelings down once and for all. She was special, one of a kind and utterly unique, but as such she was unattainable, and while their friendship was wonderful it had to remain just that, friendship. That was that, and he didn't look back.

He had defiantly pursued Carrie for a little while after returning to New York, but stopped short of courting her, remembering his promise to Michaela to wait for someone he truly connected with. And for all of her curves and charms, Carrie wasn't it for him – Michaela had been entirely right. Maybe that was why he'd avoided writing Michaela at first, but then college had consumed him, and he had been wholly submerged in the world of ideas and possibilities, and even Josie and Johann had seemed so far away. Then they had passed, and he had felt too empty for a time to write to her or connect with anyone, really. After that, he had written her several times, but the attempts always landed in the wastebasket – he just never knew what to say.

Seeing her last night, though, he felt as if he'd come back to life, though never having realized he'd stopped breathing for so long. He wanted to talk to her more, to catch up, so here he sat on the busy street outside the hospital, hoping they could have the afternoon.

He would have missed her if he hadn't happened to be looking down the street to his right the moment she stepped briskly out the door and down the sidewalk. As it was, he had to jump up and run after her to catch up.

"Michaela! Wait up!" he called, and she turned, clearly not expecting to have seen him.

"B—Sully? I thought you would be gone by now…"

He shook his head. "Couldn't leave yet… I was hoping we could talk some more…" He gestured down the sidewalk, toward the Common, "…if you have time?"

She smiled, thrilled he'd stayed. "Certainly!"

They wandered through the Common, recounting the past nine years to one another for more than an hour. So much had changed, and yet, all that time hadn't put the distance between them they would have expected. He explained that he had finally stopped using Byron altogether in college, always having felt it a little embarrassing. Michaela found it suited him, as did his longer hair, though she was surprised to find herself thinking so. But he had always been different than anyone else she knew, and to her it was somehow important that he be unique unto himself. She saw a light in his eyes, a freedom, that had always been kindling there, but now seemed to have come to fruition in the vibrant blue depths of his eyes. He was happy, and fulfilled, and so at ease with himself, with his life, with her. It made her feel at ease with him as well, perhaps moreso than she had ever before, and he noticed.

She was as composed and as ever, but he saw a freedom and joy there too, within that cage of propriety. Anticipation flooded his veins as he imagined ripping that cage apart once and for all, and wondering if the world could handle such light as she would emanate once freed completely. He felt victorious for her, for the journey she'd made through a gauntlet of men and patriarchal mechanisms, and wished he could witness her healing touch as he had that summer in the poor district. She had grown into herself, her hair and her dress perfectly becoming her, her eyes large and vibrant.

Neither mentioned Carrie or David, feeling it insignificant compared to other things, but both wondered about the other, and if men or women other than David or Carrie had played significant roles in their respective lives.

They stopped beneath the oak in which they'd met, reminiscing about that day and how it had changed their lives. Sully had never told her how trees always made him think of her, the brown and the green in harmony just like her eyes, and though he considered telling her now as the same leaves and branches surrounded her as had the first time, he decided against it, feeling as if it wasn't the right time.

Approaching the steps of the large brownstone, Michaela paused two steps above the street and turned to him, so much affection shining in her eyes.

"Thank you, Sully, for staying another day. I'm so grateful to have had this afternoon with you."

He touched her arm, warmth radiating from his smile. "I'm glad, too," he murmured.

She smiled, wanting to invite him to stay for dinner, when the front door flew open behind her. She turned to see her mother standing in the doorway, Harrison holding it open behind her.

"Michaela! There you are! Your Father arrived home twenty minutes ago and— Why, Mr. Sully! Well, you must join us for dinner, Josef and I have much to discuss with you!"

Michaela's brow contorted at her mother's excitement, perplexed as to her intentions. She turned to Sully, silent questions passing between them, and he shrugged, following her up the stairs and into the house.

**A/N: Whew - another long one - lucky you! I told you it would make you happy, because they're finally adults and we're getting SO close to the prologue! Thanks for your kind reviews - I love them!**


	19. Chapter 18

Boy, long again. Woo hoo!

Chapter 18

The dining room was lavish as always, lush bouquets of roses and lilies accenting the rich linens and filigreed silver as the small group sat at the table. Candles flickered everywhere, exaggerating the sparkle and elegance of the setting. Sully had forgotten how lavishly Elizabeth dressed her home, and though his own family had known substantial wealth, Johann had been so practical in all things that it had never been displayed so blatantly as this. Sinking into his seat across from Michaela, he sat up straight, mentally reviewing his manners in his mind.

Martha had scarcely set their plates in front of them, when Elizabeth spoke up.

"Well, Mr. Sully, I must say I'm pleased to find you still in Boston this evening."

Placing his napkin on his lap, Sully nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, ma'am. But you know you can just call me Sully – that's what I go by now."

Elizabeth nodded as Josef interjected. "I must say, lad, it's difficult to rectify the boy we once knew with the man you've become. Your reputation precedes you."

Michaela's eyes twinkled proudly at Sully; his speech _had_ been impressive last night, wise and heartfelt, and he had apparently become well-known for his skill as a peacemaker in the west.

"And I must say that we are immensely pleased to see you two together again," Elizabeth continued, "why, it's been—"

"Several years," Michaela murmured.

"Yes, I suppose it has been several years. I wasn't even aware you were still in touch."

Michaela didn't say anything, eyeing her mother. She looked at Sully, who was watching her, and she could tell he was as curious as she was to know what this was all about.

"Mother, is their a point to all of this?"

Elizabeth straightened in her seat. "Your father and I have been talking, and since you made it clear last night that you are not interested in David—"

"Mother!" Michaela stared in shock and disbelief at Elizabeth. She hadn't told Sully, or anyone for that matter, it was still too new, too fresh, too delicate, too embarrassing.

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't told Sully!"

"I… It isn't—" She looked briefly at Sully, who was decidedly uncomfortable, and then down at her plate, blushing furiously, unable to complete her sentence. Sully stared at her lowered lids, willing her to look up at him, to see that it was okay, that he was a support rather than a threat, but she didn't.

"Well, that's beside the point," Elizabeth continued. "I apologize, Michaela, for embarrassing you. Your father and I have a suggestion to make, and it is important that you hear it now." She paused, waiting until both Michaela and Sully turned their attention to her. "We know how close you two have always been, and since you have both remained single well into your adulthood, we would like to strongly encourage you to marry – and soon."

Michaela couldn't believe what she was hearing. She hadn't thought Elizabeth could embarrass her further in front of company, but this was completely absurd. "I beg your pardon?" Her voice was filled with anger and disbelief, but Elizabeth hardly noticed.

"You're already very good friends. That is much more of a foundation than most couples have when they agree to marry. And there is no reason to believe you shouldn't come to love each other in time. You're obviously well-suited for each other, with your independent attitudes, and Sully will put up with your professional ambitions."

"Mother!" Humiliation burned in her cheeks; she had never felt more vulnerable, more exposed. The candles, linens, flowers, porcelain, crystal, and silver that had always felt familiar to her suddenly felt cold and unfeeling, uncaring of her emotions or privacy.

"Mike—" Josef touched Michaela's arm, his expression contrite.

She turned to him, not believing he could truly have been involved in this. "How could you?" she whispered, her eyes pleading for him to tell her it wasn't true. But he just looked at her, a thousand apologies in his grey eyes, and she suddenly felt her own fill with tears as her heart sank, never having felt betrayal from him before.

"Michaela!" Elizabeth scolded.

She turned to her mother, eyes flashing in anger and disbelief. "How dare you interfere in my—"

"We are your parents, Michaela, it is our right—"

Michaela stood abruptly, unwilling to hear any more, casting Sully an apologetic eye, before looking at the floor. "If you'll excuse me, I'm suddenly not feeling well…" She turned, and Sully thought her form, slender, dignified, and elegant just a few hours ago, looked somehow smaller, and frail as she fled the room.

Elizabeth and Josef sat stiffly staring at one another, angry eyes carrying on a conversation they didn't wish Sully to hear. He stood, laying his napkin on the table, containing his own anger in lieu of finding Michaela.

"Mr. Sully…" Elizabeth spoke, looking startled that he was leaving.

He held up his hand. "I've got to go make sure she's okay."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, and closed it again. Josef held out his hand to Sully as he left, and finding it ignored, retracted it. He felt strangely bereft seeing Michaela look at him that way. He looked at Elizabeth, appearing smug and indifferent as she chewed her now cold vegetables. He had a lot of work to do to make things right.

Sully skipped down the kitchen stairs into the deepening twilight, hoping his intuition was right and Michaela would have fled to the garden. He knew it was her refuge, and in a way, it was their place, a healing place, where they often had long talks or worked out their misunderstandings. Venturing down the path, he saw her form appear in the dusky light like a mirage. Her arms were wrapped about herself, and he suppressed the urge to take her in his arms – it would only upset her after what had happened in the dining room.

"Michaela?" he whispered, and gently touched her shoulder. She spun around, surprised to find him there; she hadn't heard him come outside.

"Sully! I…" she drew herself up, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I'm afraid I must apologize for my parents—"

"No, you don't. It's not your fault. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm… I'm fine. I…" she chuckled softly at herself. "I just can't believe they would suggest such a thing. Especially Father…"

He took deep breath, building up his courage. "It isn't so far out there, Michaela."

"What?" Was he in on this, too? "You… do you agree with them?"

He shook his head, sitting on the iron bench under the willow, unchanged in so many years. "I'm just saying, we talked about it ourselves once." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he thought back to that night.

She sat next to him, her body turned toward him. "We did? When?"

"That last summer. Here, in Boston. You came to my room the night before I left…"

The memory came flooding back. That night, in his room, their promises. "Sully, we—we were practically children. We had no idea of the impracticalities implicit in such a decision."

He looked at her, her eyes troubled, easily seeing that she was lost in logistical details, unable to see the forest for the trees. "Maybe, but sometimes those aren't so important…"

She shook her head. "I disagree. I think they're actually quite important."

He sighed, his eyes wandering to the lamp hanging on the kitchen porch, the only source of light in the garden. "Listen, I'm just saying… forget what just happened in there with your folks. The idea itself isn't so bad."

She wasn't sure where he was going, and her voice bespoke her caution. "Sully—"

"Just—" he held up his hand, "hear me out. If we got married, you'd always have someone to talk to, someone to come home to. And someone to go to balls with, someone to dance with. No more pressure from your mother to find a suitable husband, to meet eligible men. We could spend as much time together as we wanted, never wondering when the next time would be. You would have the freedom to do as you pleased." He paused, watching as she considered each point; he could see the wheels turning. "No more chaperones…" He smiled boyishly, his blue eyes dark and twinkling in the darkened garden.

She giggled a little, but quickly grew serious again, the more intimate duties of marriage overshadowing everything else in her mind. She bit her lip. What would he expect from her? Had he even thought about that? She didn't know if she could broach the topic, it was too uncomfortable, too improper, and she didn't have any idea what he was thinking. This was all so unexpected. "There are so many other things, too, Sully, things that would be so difficult…"

"Like what?"

She blushed, unsure if she could ever voice her fears about physical intimacy, especially with Sully. Submitting to her wifely duty with a practical stranger was an entirely different challenge than doing so with Sully, with someone she knew so well as her closest friend – how would she ever be able to look him in the eye after that?

He saw her struggling inwardly, her brow creased in concern, and guessed what she might be thinking. He knew she wouldn't be able to voice her thoughts, at least not right now. Deciding not to press her, he broke in for her.

"Look, Michaela. The thing about all those complicated things – the impracticalities – is that you'd just be facing them with me. You know me. We're good friends – true friends. You know we could work things out, that we could make our own decisions – forget all those traditions and conventions that are filling your mind with doubts right now." He touched the back of her hand, folded neatly with its mate in her lap. She looked up at him, releasing her lip from its place between her teeth. His eyes were intense and sincere. "It's just me, Michaela." He watched her trying to puzzle out what he was saying, to reconcile it with the fears in her mind, her eyes falling back to her hands. "Michaela," he whispered, touching her hand again, prompting her to look up at him. "Marry me."

Her mouth dropped open. "Sully…" she gasped.

He took her hand in his. "You don't have to answer me now. You can think about it as long as you want. But I've got to head back to New York in the morning, and I want you to know my proposal stands – all you've got to do is answer when you're ready. And if you ever want to talk more about it, I'm here. I'll always be here, Michaela."

She shook her head in wonderment, soft ringlets swaying against her neck, perplexed at all that was happening. "I… I don't know what to say. This is all…"

"I know. I know it is. Just think about it, and when you're ready, we can talk through anything you want. You know you can tell me, ask me, anything. And if it doesn't work out, that's ok too. I just want you to be happy."

Her eyes filled with tears, emotion swelling in her chest, lamplight making her features glow with warmth. He was being so selfless, so giving. "And you, too. I want you to be happy. I don't want you to be burdened—"

"You'd never be a burden, Michaela."

She lowered her eyes to her lap, biting her lip. She didn't know what else to say. They were silent for several moments, both ruminating on the potential changes looming before them.

He rubbed his palms up and down his pant legs, slowly releasing a breath through pursed lips, deciding to broach another uncomfortable subject from dinner, get it out in the open. "So… David asked to court you?"

She closed her eyes, remembering the discomfort of earlier in the day when she'd run into him in the hospital corridor. "Yes, last night before I ran into you. You were right, after all this time."

He watched the gentle swaying of the willow limbs, realizing this had all come upon her practically at the same time. No wonder she was angry, confused. "Why'd you turn him down?"

She sighed, trying to work that out for herself. Here she was considering an offer of marriage from Sully, her dear friend, and she hadn't been able to fathom courting David, also her friend. What was the difference?

"David and I work very well together as physicians, almost as if we know what the other is thinking, medically, and we seem to be able to overcome any obstacle we encounter. But outside of the hospital, when it comes to personal matters, to simple conversation, much of that chemistry is gone. Intellectually he stimulates me, but personally, I often feel as if he doesn't understand me. And if we were to court, it wouldn't be our working hours together that would increase…"

Sully nodded, remaining silent, still watching the tree sway before him. Shaking her head, Michaela filed away her thoughts about David, focusing again on Sully. Sully, who had offered to give up any chance at love to marry her.

"What about… was it Carrie?"

"Carrie? Yeah…" he thought for a moment, recalling those old memories.

"I pursued her a little after I last saw you… brought her flowers, went on a couple walks. But the more we talked, the more I realized you had been right. She wasn't for me. It got so that when I was with her, I just kept thinking I'd rather be talking to you. So after I went off to school, I just never got in touch with her again. I think she married someone from the city not long after that, a lawyer or something."

"And since? Surely there must have been someone else to earn your affection…"

"Nah, no one else. I'm always traveling now, always moving. Never met anyone who made me want to keep in touch." Michaela nodded.

"We didn't keep in touch, either," she murmured.

His voice sounded far away. "No, but I always wanted to. I guess I was always comparing girls to you. If I could connect with someone like I did with you, I might want to court her, but I never did."

"Perhaps we were wrong to look for something like that. Perhaps romantic love is different from friendly love…"

He looked at her for a long moment, her eyes downcast, her expression troubled. He'd long ago shut down the part of him that was fond of her in that way, feeling nothing could ever come of it. Even now, all his feelings for her were centered around friendship, around caring for her in any way he could, except for one, small, nagging question: if they did get married, would he fall in love with her some day, and would she resent him for it?


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Sully walked slowly down the darkened hallway, the plush oriental carpet cushioning his steps. Michaela had retired to bed nearly an hour ago, their future still undecided, and he had remained on the bench in the garden, lost in thought. He'd finally pulled himself up, knowing he should return to his hotel, and proceeded through the house to the front door to retrieve his jacket.

Worried thoughts circled in his mind. Maybe she was right, maybe there were too many issues to work through. He didn't want her going into anything reluctantly. What if she met the perfect man after they were married, and couldn't be with him, because of Sully? He would resent himself, and though she might not admit it, she might come to resent him. But he couldn't take it back now, not something as valuable as the offer of his devoted friendship and partnership for the rest of his life.

"Sully, is that you?"

He paused in his steps. He'd noticed a fire in the study, but had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't put two and two together that it might mean Josef was still awake.

"Yep. Just heading out…" He stood in the doorway, not sure how to talk to Josef at this point. He had been out of character at dinner, and Sully wasn't sure if he was the trustworthy Josef he'd always known, or if he should guard his words.

"If you wouldn't mind staying a few more minutes, I'd like to speak with you."

Sully wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Josef more sedate, more resigned. Slowly, he crossed to the leather wingback next to the one Josef occupied, and sat down, staring into the flames. He remained silent, his characteristic invitation for Josef to speak.

Josef too, seemed mesmerized by the flames, and he didn't raise his eyes as he spoke, his voice rough with humility. "I'd like to apologize for my behavior at dinner tonight." He looked down at his hands. "It's true, Elizabeth and I discussed the matter this morning. And just as I was over fifteen years ago, I would be honored to welcome you officially into our family. But it is important to me that you know, and I will speak with Michaela about this as well, that I didn't intend to present the issue to either of you in that manner. Elizabeth… well, she and I… do not always – approach – situations in the same way… I'm sure you know that by now. I've been sitting her reflecting for some time now, and I'm not sure what came over me, to stay so silent while she spoke, except that Mike's reaction, the betrayal she felt, struck me to the core. I don't know that in all these years I've ever been the source of her pain like that, and it rendered me speechless. I'm not sure I can ever repair it…" he trailed off, anguish apparent in his tone, and in his countenance.

"She'll forgive you. She knows your heart, even if she didn't understand your actions."

"Perhaps… perhaps." He sighed, resigning himself to a measure of uncertainty. His mind wandered to the singular relationship Sully had maintained with his daughter over the years, and something in the firelight at this late hour stripped him of his usual restraint. "Do you love her?" He glanced at the younger man briefly, but kept his eyes trained on the flames, which seemed to dance higher, more brightly, in that moment.

"I've always loved her, Josef." Josef's breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. "But I'm not in love with her. Michaela is… God, she's… she's everything to me: my best friend, my family, my mentor, my confidant—"

"Then how can you not be in love with her?" Sully looked at him. "I always thought you were… there was a moment, one day in Maine, when I was sure of it. The two of you came in from the beach, winded, whispering, giggling, and she went upstairs to change for dinner. You paused, though, just for a moment, before going down the hall yourself to change, and watched her climb the stairs. The look in your eyes… I couldn't place it at first. Admiration, attraction, fondness… none of those seemed to accurately describe what I saw there. And then it came to me – love. Not puppy love, not some boyish crush, and that was what was so strange. It was love… pure… and true. I'd never seen such a thing in such a young boy, and from that moment I always thought… always expected…"

He paused, and looked over at Sully, who was staring pointedly into the fire, his jaw clenched tight. He continued, hoping to open something in Sully's heart, rather than close it. "Of course, I knew Michaela was oblivious to it. She's always been so intellectually driven, so focused on the wellbeing of others… it was as if she couldn't recognize her own feelings…" Josef's voice was slow, thoughtful, but he was watching Sully out of the corner of his eye, and something changed, something imperceptible, with his last statement. "Perhaps the time has passed. Perhaps… she was too shut away from her feelings, and you've gotten over them." He chuckled softly. "That was some time ago, I suppose… But I can't be here for her forever. My days… are numbered… and nothing… absolutely nothing… would make me happier than to know I don't have to worry about her when my time comes… to know she'll be cared for, materially and emotionally… And so, when Elizabeth and I spoke this morning, it was that which compelled me to agree with her idea, if not her methods, whether you marry as friends, or… if something… more… should emerge."

Seeing that the younger man was considering his words, he rose, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Well, I must be retiring; I've got an early surgery tomorrow." He put his hand on Sully's shoulder. "Thank you, Sully, for listening to an old man's thoughts."

Sully looked up at Josef, whose eyes were sparkling softly. Sully nodded grimly and rose, and they shook hands. Josef proceeded up the stairs, and Sully put out the fire, sighing. How had things become so complicated? What did Michaela want? What did he want?

Michaela stood uncomfortably before the heavy wooden door, still debating what she was going to do. But it had been two months, and she felt it was time to decide, once and for all. The uncertainty was frustrating her; she needed to resolve this. She raised her hand to knock, and then hesitated, then raised it again. She turned her back to the door, the lush landscape calming her nerves, just a little.

Suddenly, the door swung open behind her, and she spun around to find Sully standing in the doorway, as surprised as she was to find her there.

"Hey…" He looked caught off guard, uncertain. Maybe she shouldn't have come…

She braced herself. "Hello, Sully. Um… if you were heading out…" She began to turn to leave. It would be a wasted train fare, but it didn't matter.

He touched her elbow, stopping her from leaving. "N-no, that's ok, come in." He opened the door wider, holding out his arm to welcome her in.

She hesitated, unsure whether he truly wanted her there or not. "Oh no, it's alright, Sully, I—"

"I was just going for a walk – you could come with me," he suggested. His eyes were genuine, deep, sensitive blue, compelling her to trust his invitation. He watched her, seeing that she was troubled, knowing she must have come to give him an answer. They hadn't discussed how she would tell him when she was ready, and he was surprised she had come. He had expected a letter, or maybe a telegram asking when they could meet, but to just show up… he was pleasantly surprised.

She was actually rather tired, having travelled so long in a cramped train compartment to New York, but seeing the grounds again did sound refreshing. They moved her valise into the foyer, and he led her through the house to the kitchen door.

"Everything is just the same, as if no time has passed." Her voice was full of soft sentiment, remembering that summer so long ago, when they were twelve years old.

"Didn't see much reason to change things – sometimes I think I'll walk into the kitchen and find Josie, or find Johann in the study. It hurts a little, but it's comforting, too."

"Oh, Sully, what it must have been like for you, losing them as you did, after…"

"After losing Ma and Pa."

She nodded, swallowing hard. He'd hardly ever spoken of them, but the emotion in his voice now told him how much he loved and missed them, cherished their memory.

"Johann was always so stoic, even after Josie passed, but I could tell something inside of him died with her. He was so strong, he just kept on going, kept on working. Then, one morning, I found him in his chair in the study, with their wedding picture in his lap. I thought he was sleeping at first. I like to think he went to be with her. They were so different from each other, but they fit together so well… just weren't meant to be apart." A tear rolled down his cheek, and a sympathetic one of her own fell from her own eye.

"That's so beautiful, Sully," she whispered.

He shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. "Come on, the outside hasn't changed either."

As they walked, Michaela pondered Sully's words. If she were to marry Sully, they would be giving up what Johann and Josie had for something convenient, something comfortable, something safe. In all her reflections, she had dwelt most on the issue of physical intimacy, of wifely duty. She wavered between resigning herself to it (after all, it was expected and completely normal, regardless of romantic feelings), and refusing his proposal, because she just couldn't envision herself looking at him after being with him without being embarrassed, and their friendship would never be the same. But in light of Josie and Johann, perhaps that was another reason they should both keep looking for love, separately. There was sadness in losing one's soul mate, but their was something beautiful in having one, and maybe it _was_ better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. She was tired of thinking in circles, and she sighed. If she said no, would she always wonder if they could have been happy after all? If she said yes, would they come to regret it? What if—

"Watch your step – tree fell across the path a couple weeks ago."

Taking her hand, he helped her over the log, and they emerged onto the same little curved beach he'd shown her that first day of summer so long ago. Looking back, she couldn't believe she'd gone swimming with him in her underthings. It seemed rather scandalous, looking back.

He laid a blanket out over the rocky beach, and they settled upon it, looking out over the water. They were silent for several moments, both uncomfortably wondering how to begin, how to gracefully broach such an uncomfortable topic.

"Sully, there are… some things… I feel we must discuss honestly if we truly want to consider this…"

"Impracticalities,"

"Yes… such as marital duties, for instance."

"Marital duties?"

"Wifely duties…" seeing his expression was still blank, she took a deep breath, willing herself to go on. "Intimacy."

"Michaela—" "I'm just not sure—" They spoke at the same time, and he could see the strain in her eyes. So this is what she had been so afraid of.

"I would never make you do that."

"But Sully…"

"No, just listen. If we do this, we're going into this as friends, and we'll stay just friends… best friends. We decide things like that together, with equal say."

"But, what about…" She paused, clearly struggling with her words. He waited – she needed to get all her worries out on the table. "Men have needs…"

He sucked in a deep breath. He knew she was just repeating things she'd been told her whole adult life, but those things still bothered him. Why did society have such a hold on such private matters? He'd never been with a woman. He'd thought about it, dreamt about it a couple of times, but never acted on it. That was meant for marriage, or rather, for love within marriage.

Uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. They needed to talk this out, but it was awkward. "Men have self-control, just like women do." He paused, laying his hand over hers. She looked up at him shyly, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Michaela, if we do this, we're agreeing to give that up—"

She shook her head adamantly. "People will expect children, Sully."

"People?" He didn't care what people expected, this was between them, and them only.

"People," she repeated with conviction. "Mother, my sisters… everyone. It's expected that a married couple produces an heir, someone to carry on the family name. Mother would be floored if we didn't—"

"What if they can't?"

Her brow creased in confusion. "What?"

"Some people can't have babies, for medical reasons, right?"

"Yes, I suppose…" she returned slowly.

"Well, couldn't that be us?"

"Sully…?" She shook her head, did he want them to lie?

"What I'm saying is… how would they know why we didn't have kids?" He touched her arm. "That's between you and me. It's none of their business what we do or don't do. If we decided we wanted kids some day, we could talk about it then… maybe even adopt."

She studied him for a long moment, knowing he was sincere, believing he was offering to do this, with no expectations of her. It seemed too much to give, too much to sacrifice.

"And what about love?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Intuitively, he knew what she meant. "We'd be letting it go."

"But what if you met a girl, your one true love. Even if we didn't have a traditional marriage, I couldn't bear it if you were to—"

"We'd be letting that go, Michaela. I'd still be promising to be faithful to you for the rest of my days, and if I met someone, or you did," she blushed and looked away, unable to comprehend such a thing, "we would have to ignore it, stay away from them, because we chose each other instead."

"But wouldn't that make us resentful? I would want you to be happy, yet I'd be denying you happiness…"

"You make me happy. Maybe it's not quite the same, but we'd only feel resentful if we let ourselves. It would be worse to act on something like that, and hurt each other. If we're going to do this, we've got to be serious about it, committed to it, to each other."

She nodded, agreeing with him. Every marital union involved sacrifice; there's would just be a different sort of sacrifice.

"I'm not saying it wouldn't ever be complicated," he went on, "but no matter what we choose in life, it won't always be simple. We just have to make our choices, and live with them."

She shook her head, a small, crooked smile playing on her lips. "You make it sound so simple."

He smiled, but grew serious again. "Any more questions?"

She looked down, hesitant to ask his thoughts on this, not sure if she could compromise. "Where would we live?" she asked, her voice soft.

He smiled, knowing how important this was to her. "I guess I thought we could live in Boston, so you could still practice with Josef. I travel so much, it doesn't really matter where I live. I don't have attachments to a place like you do."

"What about this estate?"

"I'd probably keep it, if you didn't mind. Maybe let it out to some farmers who couldn't afford their own land… find a way to do some good with it."

"Of course you can keep it," she breathed. "I would never ask you to give something like this up."

He grinned, not surprised to have resolved that so easily. This would be much easier on her if she wasn't over thinking everything so much. "What else?"

"Well… What about finances?"

Here was a tough one. He wanted all the responsibility in this area, but knew she would want some of her own. He respected that, but this was a man's place. He spoke slowly, deliberately, thoughtfully, knowing she would try to negotiate. "I'd be happy to provide the living expenses, but we could share everything else."

Was he serious? If they were to be equals, then he should allow her to help. This wasn't a traditional marriage, after all. "Couldn't I help?" she asked gently, not wanting to offend him. "I earn my fair share. After all, this is a partnership, isn't it?"

He sighed, acknowledging to himself that these weren't typical circumstances. He'd always envisioned providing for his family, and in this case, that would only be Michaela. He ignored the pang in his chest – no children, he'd never be a pa – and pushed it to the far recesses of his heart. That was part of the decision. Maybe someday, they would adopt. Maybe. "I guess that would be alright, if that's what you really wanted. But I'd like to at least buy the house, I've got plenty saved up."

She knew it was difficult for him to let her have that, and suddenly the remainder of her concerns flew out the window. He was willing to concede so much, and in reality, she knew she was, too. This wasn't so hard, and she didn't feel as exposed and vulnerable as she thought she might, discussing these things with him. Perhaps, this could work, and even be fun.

"Yes," she breathed, her face suddenly radiant with happiness.

He saw the transformation in her countenance, and sat up a little straighter. Yes, he could buy the house, or…

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, let's get married. I know we can work it all out; we can make it work. Oh Sully, it's just hit me what a relief it would be to marry you – I would feel so… so free."

He chuckled, her sense of freedom filling him, suddenly making him feel heady. He felt her relief, and he wanted to hug her, pick her up and swing her around.

"You and me." He paused, savoring the thought. He looked into her eyes, those unique, brilliant, compelling eyes, now so clear and open and free. He wanted her to see the sincerity in what he was about to say. "I want you to know I'll always respect you, always support you, Michaela. I'll always be your best friend before anything else…"

"A platonic marriage… a permanent partnership of true friends…" she smiled, pleased with herself, pleased with the arrangement.

He squeezed her hand. "When do you want to make it official?"

She hadn't thought about that, in all this time. She looked at her hands, his holding hers, and back up at him, such a dear, wonderful face. "Oh, well… I don't see any reason to wait… there's no reason to plan an elaborate wedding. We can just arrange a simple ceremony before a judge, sometime that works for both of us."

He nodded, thinking about his travel commitments over the next several months. He wouldn't have to leave for at least another month… "How about I come up in a couple of weeks, and we can find a house, make plans? We can take it from there."

"Sounds like a plan," she said, her face radiant and at peace. He hoped it would stay that way – it was all he wanted for her – freedom, and happiness. Standing, he pulled her to her feet, hugging her long and hard. Suddenly, kids or no, he couldn't wait for the rest of his life.

A/N – You've probably noticed I've written more of Sully's thoughts and observations of Michaela than the other way around. This is intentional, and you'll see a slight shift as the story progresses. As Josef so insightfully suggested, Michaela just hasn't got around to thoughtfully reflecting on her own romantic needs, desires, thoughts, or feelings, being so focused on others, and on her career. And though Sully is absolutely as breathtaking as ever throughout this story, I didn't want to write about that too much, and confuse my own – ahem – observations, with Michaela's (of which she doesn't have many…yet). I have meant to explain that to you, and just haven't, but Josef reminded me, and so I thought I'd let you know, in case you hadn't picked up on it. Thank you so much for your reviews – they light a fire under me!


	21. Chapt 20: All the Difference, A Preview

_A/N: You all clearly needed a break for some romance. I'm not sure you could have been more clear! So, for your reading pleasure, and after the example set by the prologue, Chapter 20 is a glimpse into the future, inspired by the September monthly challenge pictures on forum dot drquinn dot us. _

_The time lapse is deliberately vague – there are enough revelations here as it is – but you can assume this takes place within the not-so-distant future. Chapter 21 will bring us back to the present__, back to the forthcoming wedding, and back to our couple's continued journey toward the discovery of their ever-existent love._

**Chapter 20: ****All the Difference **

Sully walked toward the center of town, replaying the latest negotiations in his mind. The stipulations weren't fair to the Cheyenne, and he was having a difficult time convincing the army of that. He'd just spent two days on the reservation, away from government bureaucracy and the white man's preoccupation with progress and efficiency. The report he would give after the tribal council should make a difference to the army, but he knew it wouldn't.

He tried to shake off his frustrations, focusing instead on the heady anticipation he felt about coming home to his wife tonight, tucked away in their little rickety homestead outside of town. He smiled. Michaela never failed to take his breath away, a product of another world, of Boston, yet she adjusted so easily to this more rustic life, appreciating the richness found in its simplicity, and connected with people who had no comprehension of her former life, which had been full of intellectual challenge and elite professional drive, and still she could love and respect them with her whole heart. His heart swelled and raced in his chest, filling him with anxious, heavy elation, his body warming with the emotion. God, he loved her.

Then he saw her, talking to Charlotte on the porch of the boarding house. She wore a simple blue plaid blouse and blue skirt, such a contrast from her Bostonian upbringing, her auburn hair shimmering copper in the sunlight, pulled back in combs at the sides and falling down her back in loose curls. He loved her like this, loved to feel the warmth of her skin through the fine weave of the simple cotton, to run his fingers along the leather belt that accentuated her trim waist. Focused on Michaela, who had yet to see him, he vaguely registered Brian coming down the side street from school, headed for home. The boy immediately spotted Sully, calling out to him, and changed his direction, running to meet him in the street. The happy commotion caught Michaela's attention, and she smiled at the boy's eager affection for her husband. She caught his eye, a blush rising to her cheeks. Sully exchanged a secret smile with Michaela, his eyes twinkling with meaning, and held her gaze for a long moment, before crouching down to greet his young friend.

"Hey Sully!" The boy was panting, excited.

Sully patted his arm. "Hey Brian. What's up?"

He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I need to talk to ya 'bout somethin'…" he looked back toward the women on the porch. When he turned back, his voice fell almost to a whisper. "…in private."

Sully smiled to himself at Brian's embarrassment, mentally making a few educated guesses at what might be coming. He nodded shortly, a serious look on his face. "Alright. Wanna go for a walk?" He would have to find his wife again a little later.

Brian looked relieved. "Sure! Thanks, Sully!"

Sully stood, taking Brian's books and slinging them over his shoulder, then resting an affirming hand on the fatherless boy's shoulder. He caught Michaela's glance out of the corner of his eye and winked at her. She blushed, a shy and innocently alluring smile upon her lips, and turned back to her conversation, and he felt his heart skip a beat. She was going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

Balancing two steaming cups of coffee in one hand, Sully carefully closed the door behind him, easing down onto the step next to Michaela.

"Thank you," she said in a low tone, accepting the warm mug from him.

"You're welcome," he returned, settling his forearms on his knees, and looking up to the stars.

"You never told me what it was Brian wanted to speak with you about this afternoon." There was something seductive in her tone, low, soft, teasing, that had nothing to do with her question, and everything to do with their bodies side by side, the twinkling stars, and the warm bed just inside the door.

His body responded to his observations, but he tempered it, assuming an air of nonchalance that he knew would instigate her curiosity. He shrugged, leaned back, rested his elbows on the steps. "Just man stuff."

She turned so she could see him better. "Oh? And what is 'man stuff'?" There was a twinkle in her eye. She knew he was playing with her, but she'd taken his bait anyway.

He sat up, pressing up close to her, his arm slipping around her waist. She blushed, focusing her eyes on the dirt a few feet in front of them, all too conscious of his close proximity, his touch. How was it possible that he stirred her so with such innocent movements?

He leaned in, whispering in her ear. "You know, the birds and the bees." The pads of his fingers trailed softly up the length her spine, sifting lightly into the hair at her nape, caressing her scalp.

The warmth of his lingering breath and nearness suffused her body. Her eyes closed, sighing silently at his caress, having difficulty focusing on the conversation as her blood raced, sweet pleasure coming alive in her veins. "But Brian's so young…" she breathed, and bit her lip as his thumb brushed over the lobe of her ear.

He leaned in, nuzzling the hollow behind her ear. "Not so young – seems about his age I was starting to wonder about girls myself…" he whispered, and brushed his lips over the shell of her ear, feeling her slight quiver in response.

"You were? But he's only…" she turned surprised eyes on him, and he grinned, watching her analytical mind evaluate his words, mentally calculating the implications.

"Yep. Didn't you wonder about – things – back then, when you were his age?" He was teasing her. He could easily guess the answer, but he was deliberately pushing her buttons, putting her on edge, knowing vulnerability within the safe circle of their embrace was a gateway to intimacy.

Blushing, she shook her head, biting her lip. He groaned inwardly. That always made him want to kiss her, and now was no different. "No…" she whispered. In truth, she had never given it much thought, absorbed in her studies and her father's practice as she was, and assuaging what curiosity she had in medical textbooks. Real life was so much different than those pencil drawings and medical explanations…

"But you had a talking to, didn't ya?" he murmured knowingly, his voice hoarse with sweet, mounting tension. His thumb kneaded her shoulder gently, and then his palm trailed warmly down her back, moving around her waist and pulling her in close against him, his strength, his warmth suffusing into her own skin as his fingers caressed her side.

"Yes, I suppose I did…" Her eyes fell to her coffee cup, remembering the kind brown eyes and gentle words that even still hadn't diminished her embarrassment. Her thoughts went back to the present, to Brian. "And what exactly did you tell him?" She sipped her coffee, desperate to feign normalcy, even as her heart raced and her skin ached for more of his touch.

As she spoke he nuzzled his nose in her hair teasingly, knowing what he was doing to her, his lips lightly brushing her neck, her smooth skin warm and powdery soft. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the fragrance of her soaps and perfume. So light and… home. Over time, her scent had become home to him, at once comforting and arousing, and the thought sent his heart on a rampage. He exhaled slowly, trying to focus his thoughts back on their conversation. He rested his chin on her shoulder as he spoke low, looking up at her with smoldering blue eyes.

"I told 'im there's no rush." His warm gaze caressed her features. "Told 'im to save most of it for marriage, for love within marriage, 'cause that's what makes it worthwhile." She pulled back from him enough to look into his eyes, her own aglow with affection and burning with love. He touched her chin with his thumb, resting his curled forefinger beneath it to hold her mesmerizing gaze, his smoldering gaze moving seductively between her eyes and her lips, and back again. "I told 'im until then, he's just gotta focus on finding the right girl," his thumb swept over her jaw, resting it on her earlobe as his gingers dug into the silken mass of her hair, "'cause that makes all the difference."

With that, his lips descended upon hers, alternately delving softly, intimately into her mouth and rubbing parted lips over hers. She pressed into him with abandon, her senses ignited by his touch, his kiss causing her to forget everything else. Deftly he hooked a hand under her knees and pulled her into his lap, his warm hand moving up her thigh and softly squeezing the slender flare of her hip, sending a quiver of pleasure through her. Her hands moved over his broad chest to his shoulders, before her arms wound around his neck as she gave herself up to his ministrations, and he lifted her easily from the steps, carrying her inside, two cups of coffee left forgotten in the Colorado night.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Fresh back from New York, Michaela perched at her father's large desk, pen poised over a patient's chart as she gazed absently out the window, having enjoyed several hours during which she could complete her paperwork in solitude. Josef had a complicated surgery scheduled for this morning, and it would likely take all day. She had politely declined his invitation to assist, noting the longing and discouragement coexisting in his eyes. She felt badly about it, but couldn't bring herself to console it. He had never discussed his role in her mother's outburst at the dinner table over two months ago, and she still felt unsure about him, feeling as if the foundations of their close and easy partnership had been shaken.

The front door closing followed by quiet greetings shook her from her reverie, and she reread her notes, trying to recall where she'd left off. Remembering the detailed symptoms of Mrs. Aleman's catarrh, she began writing again.

Josef stood in the open door of his study, pride swelling in his chest. His little girl, all grown up, a physician, and an excellent one at that. She was everything he could have ever hoped she would be: strong, sensitive, intelligent, creative, passionate, and beautiful. At her birth, he had suffered momentary disappointment that yet another little girl had been brought into the family, but it was only for a second, and since then he knew he would never trade the honor of raising this vibrant child for anything.

Pain gripped his spirit as he again thought of the way he had unwittingly betrayed her trust, and the distance it had brought to their relationship since then. As father and daughter, their life together had not been absent of conflict, but none had been as difficult to resolve as this. Feeling a sudden boost of courage rise in his chest, he cleared his throat.

Michaela's head snapped up, having quickly forgotten someone else had entered the house. Seeing her father standing in the doorway, her reflexive smile froze in its course, not quite full-fledged. Immediately recognizing her resistance, he lowered himself slowly into the leather chair opposite her and began to speak, hoping she would stay and listen, but knowing he must give her the freedom not to, for after all, she was an adult.

"Hello, Little One," he began contritely, slowly. Michaela noted he hadn't used that pet name for some time, and instinctively knew it signified the depth of love in the words that would follow. She waited, watching him guardedly, touched but unwilling to let this go easily. "It's time I apologize for our interference in your personal affairs, especially in front of Sully…" he paused, waiting for what he wasn't sure. Michaela only watched him, her temper rising inexplicably at the reminder. "You must know I never intended to broach the topic in such a manner, although I will admit I did believe the idea a good one—"

"Then you'll be happy to know we've agreed to marry."

Her voice wasn't much more than a whisper, devoid of emotion, eyes focused on her hands clasped on the desk in front of her. The quiet admission left him momentarily stunned.

"You have? When?"

Her eyes met his, the mismatched colors he adored veiled with something he couldn't name.

"Two days ago. I took the train to New York to see him," she said coolly. She deliberately left out his proposal in the garden the night of Elizabeth's suggestion.

"You weren't at Rebecca's, then." His eyes began to twinkle as the pieces fell together in his mind.

"No." She shook her head slightly, thankful that she had been able to trust Rebecca to cover for her so she could sort things out in her own time. Her eyes narrowed, recognizing the look in his eyes. "What?"

He smiled, and couldn't hold back a chuckle. "I'm proud of you, Mike, I never would have guessed you had snuck off to New York." He changed the subject. "So tell me, are you happy?"

She recognized the genuine concern in his eyes, and felt her heart warm toward him just a little. She smiled slightly, one corner of her mouth turning up, and embarrassed, focused her gaze on a dog-eared page in her textbook. "Yes, I suppose so." Her expression straightened again when she added, her eyes raising determinedly to his, "But it's important to me that you know we came to this agreement despite you and mother, rather than because of you. It was—"

"Completely inappropriate," he interrupted, "I know. In fact, I was afraid we had ruined all chances of this marriage actually taking place, by broaching the subject to you in that way. I didn't expect that, Mike. Your mother and I…" He paused, slightly changing course. "It's important in any marriage to maintain clear communication. I'm sure you'll discover that for yourself in the years to come. Failure to do so can be destructive and hurtful. But your mother does love you, and only wants your happiness, as I do. You must never forget that." He reached across the desk, covering her small hand with his larger one. "I hope you can forgive me, Little One."

Her smile was genuine this time, her eyes full of forgiveness, accepting his genuine regret. She laid her other hand atop his, squeezing comfortingly, a gesture she'd learned from him. "Of course," she whispered.

"Your mother will have to be told, you know," he advised, a knowing glint in his eye.

"Told what?" the brisk demand was spoken before either noticed that Elizabeth had entered the room, having just descended the stairs. "What must you tell me?" She rolled her eyes when neither spoke. "I hope you haven't done something brash, Michaela."

Father and daughter exchanged an indulgent smile before Michaela stood, back straight and head held high. "No, I don't believe you would think it brash, Mother. I was just telling Father you would be happy to know that Sully and I have agreed to marry."

A satisfied smile crept over her face. "Well, it's about time you observed a measure common sense. Sometimes I think you defy me for no other reason than to disagree, Michaela." Her daughter bit her tongue, knowing further argument would be futile. "Well, we have a wedding to plan, don't we!"

Sully arrived in Boston as planned, and the two submitted almost without grudge to Elizabeth's wedding agenda. Michaela being her youngest daughter and last to marry, she was determined it would be the social event of the year. Much to Elizabeth's horror, however, they refused the requisite yearlong engagement, as it was impossible to choose a date so far in advance with Sully's fluctuating, government-regulated schedule. Instead they insisted upon a date of May 20, only five weeks away, but Sully had been able to postpone his next trip by a little over a month, and this date was far enough in advance to allow them a short honeymoon before he would again travel west.

In all the other things, they relented. Michaela would be fitted for the customary formal white dress, the finest Elizabeth could find, and the ceremony would take place in the morning, followed by an elaborate wedding breakfast. Elizabeth would secure the church, arrange the flowers and the catering, and see to every last detail of the bridal trousseau. Michaela found all of this quite unnecessary, having planned on a simple ceremony, but she and Sully had agreed on the way back from the train station that they could relent on such things if it would make Elizabeth happy.

Just now, they were touring homes for sale on Beacon Hill, having decided that proximity to Massachusetts General Hospital, the Quinn estate, where Josef and Michaela held their practice, and the train station was most important in determining their place of residence.

She hadn't had much opportunity to discuss each property with Sully as they went slong, but Michaela had found the first two houses much too imposing. Despite her entire life in the large brownstone home her Father had purchased at the time of his marriage, Michaela preferred something simpler, more modest, in lieu of the ostentatious homes common in this part of the city. Perhaps this desire was formed out of her brief time with the Nordheims in New York, or her frustrations with the elite of society over the years, or the distain she saw in her colleagues for people who weren't as fortunate as they, or perhaps it was all of these things. Regardless, it was their final stop, a row house on Acorn Street, quaint and centrally located, that captured her affection.

Michaela blushed as she held Sully's jacket, his lingering warmth bathing her arms, the intimacy of the simple favor feeling new, strange, exhiliarating. She and the real estate broker, Alfred Harding, were watching him crouching down in his shirtwaist to inspect the some of the cabinetry in the kitchen. Harding, rosy, cheerful, and astute, commented periodically on the quality of the craftsmanship, noting stylistic and structural details as Sully scanned for weak points in the wood and joints.

She had almost forgotten his carpenter's apprenticeship when he was younger, and had only remembered when he began to inspect the structural integrity of each property for himself. He had moved methodically through each of the four bedrooms, down the staircase to the study, sitting room, dining room. She watched his hands, his fingers moving carefully over the paneling, feeling intricacies his eyes could not. The lean, defined muscles of his arms and shoulders were evident under his white shirt as he moved about. She wondered fleetingly if she'd ever noticed this before, and was pleased to discover that his strength made her feel secure in a way she hadn't experienced until today.

Standing, he brushed his hands on his thighs, more out of habit than necessity, and reached out to shake Harding's hand.

"Thank you for your time today, Mr. Harding."

The gentleman chuckled politely. "Well it's my pleasure, of course! Why don't I give the two of you some time to discuss what you've seen today, and I can meet you again, say, in the morning, to discuss further options?" A salesman he was, and he knew he couldn't force a sale.

Sully looked at Michaela, who shrugged and nodded her approval. There was a compelling light in her eye, and he knew she had made a decision.

"Sure." His fingers touched the curve of Michaela's back, ushering her toward the door as he spoke. "Sounds good. We'll see you at your office in the morning."

The three moved down the steps to the narrow cobblestone street, and the men shook hands again, Harding chivalrously nodding his head to Michaela.

"Good as gold! Enjoy this lovely spring day, then!" The kindly man turned on a dime, dropping the key into his vest pocket, and left the engaged couple to themselves, thinking this was a lucky lady to find a man who would seek her opinion, and a lucky man to find such a lovely, albeit independent, bride.

Michaela handed Sully his jacket, eager to hear his thoughts. "What did you think of this one?"

Shrugging into the sleeves, Sully touched Michaela's elbow, guiding her down the street. "Looked pretty good. I didn't see any problems. What do you say we go walk in the Common while we talk?"

She grinned, nodding, happy to enjoy the brisk sweet spring air a little longer, and they started off. Technically, they should look for a chaperone, but the freedom she felt in this moment was wonderful, the possibilities of the future open before her, and locating and being accompanied by a chaperone seemed stifling, confining. It was only Sully, after all, and if Elizabeth got wind of it, she would handle it then.

They took a leisurely pace to the Common, enjoying the brick architecture, accentuated with heavy white moldings and wrought iron scrollwork, which was characteristic of the South Slope of Beacon Hill, and Back Bay, for that matter. Red geraniums bloomed in the window boxes, and purple and white violets bordered the sidewalk. Hanging baskets of deep pink and purple fuchsias adorned the gas lampposts, and the air was fragrant with spring.

Reaching the Common, she turned to him, breaking their silent reverie, eyes bright with excitement and the certainty of hope as she slipped her arm through his.

"Oh Sully, I've always loved Acorn Street, and it's such a quant little house, so close to everything. And it's the perfect size, don't you think? If you found no structural problems, I don't see why we couldn't just purchase it now…"

Sully smiled, the look of anticipation in her eyes was dazzling, though he wasn't sure he agreed with her completely. "You don't think it's too big for us?" She shook her head emphatically, biting her lip, and he chuckled. "What are we going to do with four bedrooms?"

She was so full of excitement she couldn't be daunted. Her mind was swimming with images of the house, lovely built in cabinetry and shelving throughout, fireplaces in nearly every room, views of the bay, large, bright windows. She spoke matter of factly, her mind moving through the details she'd already worked out in her head as she spoke. "You and I will each have a room, perhaps the front rooms overlooking the bay. And it would be nice to have a guest room, in case someone were to need to stay the night, and, well…" she was suddenly embarrassed, "I think it might be wise if we were to hire a maid, someone who could help with the running of the household, at least until I can learn how to do everything. I was thinking perhaps we could put out an advertisement for someone to stay on with us."

Sully's mind had stalled at separate bedrooms, the other words rattling around meaninglessly in his head. Of course it made sense, they weren't going to be lying together anyway, not in that sense, but still, he had assumed… Didn't she trust him? "Separate bedrooms?"

She stopped walking abruptly, her own assumptions assaulting her in that instant, and he took a couple more steps before he noticed and turned back to her, finding her eyes downcast and her cheeks flushing pink. Now he felt terrible for embarrassing her; he should have just let it go.

She felt awful – she had just assumed, but had he assumed differently? It wasn't so much the prospect of sharing a bed with him that frightened her – she trusted him implicitly – but exposing her toilette, and dressing before one another, seemed too much, it was too private. She saw his feet stop in front of her, and bit her lip, unsure of what she should do now.

"Michaela—" he began at the same time as she murmured, "I just thought…" Her brow creased as she tried to find appropriate words, "well… as we discussed—"

"I know." He touched her chin, and her eyes rose to meet his, finding security again in his gaze. He smiled in understanding, trying to shake off the awkward moment for each of them. "I'm not arguing that, but don't you think it would make people wonder?"

Fire burst to life in her eyes. "It isn't any of their business," she asserted firmly.

"Maybe not, but your mother's bound to find out. I just want you to be ready if it comes up—"

"It is all the rage in Europe." Her eyebrows rose triumphantly, a facetious twinkle in her eye. "It's very common among the aristocracy for a wife to have her own bedroom – and even considered scandalous if she doesn't."

He chuckled, eyeing her. "We aren't aristocracy."

She giggled softly. "I know, and I'm glad we aren't. But I would prefer to have my own room, if you don't mind… It doesn't matter what others say." She blushed again, her eyes tentatively meeting his.

"Of course," he took her arm and started them walking again. "Now what did you say about a maid?" He was enjoying this, enjoying this lighthearted closeness, teasing her, planning with her, and his tone reflected this. The Common was beautiful today, spring blossoms adorning the trees, the ground still wet from a light rain earlier that morning, puddles shimmering in the bright sunlight, grass brilliantly green in contrast to the flawless blue sky.

"I think we both know very little about keeping house, and I haven't cooked since we were twelve, with Josie. So… I thought it might be prudent for us to hire someone to help. At least until I can learn more."

"I'd like us to have a butler too."

She was surprised, "You would? But Josie and Johann never had hired help…"

"No, but I'm still going to be traveling a lot, and I'd feel better knowing there was a man in the house, in case something happened."

She nodded in contemplation, remembering how secure he'd made her feel earlier just by his presence. The thought of him leaving made her feel suddenly vulnerable. "Well, perhaps we could hire a husband and wife, and they could stay on with us as part of their compensation, someone in need of a place to live…"

"Maybe Harrison or Martha would know someone…"

"Perhaps… Then, the Acorn Street house it is?"

He smiled indulgently, and put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulders. "Sure, if that's what you want."

She started to protest, but stopped when she saw the laughter in his eyes. She grinned. "Only if you want it, too."

He grinned boyishly, laughing blue eyes reflecting the color of the perfect sky. "I do."

A/N: Well, this isn't the first chapter I don't love, but here it is. I hope it satisfies enough in you that can hold on until next week!


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"I've got something for you."

Sully paused below a tree – their tree – and waited for her to turn back to him. After settling most of the paperwork on the house, they'd circled back around to the Common to walk and talk before returning to the Quinn residence for tea.

He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet in a teasing manner as she watched him expectantly.

"You do?" She grinned, finding his playfulness contagious.

"Yep." He nodded once, and took a step toward her, seeing the curiosity jump in her eyes.

She shook her head at his boyishness. "Haven't you done enough for me already?" The pending marriage, the house, the adjustments to his business schedule, it all felt too much.

He chuckled. "Nope."

The mysterious laughter in his eyes was making her impatient. "Then what do you have for me, Mr. Sully?" She feigned annoyance, but there was a compelling twinkle in her eye to accompany the crooked smile on her lips.

His eyebrows rose in surprise at her sudden playful formality, which he decided was kind of sweet. She was standing just a step in front of him now, her eyes reflecting both the gnarled bark and the leafy canopy of their tree, her blue dress an extension of the sky, its white tatted lace trim mirroring the wisps of clouds above them, and suddenly he felt as if his life had come full circle. Here was this enchanting girl before him, as she had been sixteen years ago, full of life and energy and spirit, and soon, promised to him forever. His gaze never leaving hers, he took her hand and placed in it the little lacquered box, chuckling a little as her eyes widened in realization.

"Open it," he whispered, watching her face intently.

She did. Glinting back at her from its satin resting place was a solitary pearl in a setting of tiny diamonds on a gold band – an engagement ring.

"Sully it's beautiful…" she breathed. She touched it, the pearl cool and smooth on her skin. "But you didn't have to…"

He lifted it from the box and took her hand. "I wanted to." He slid it on, and excitement, sweet and anxious, skittered through her. "There's no reason you shouldn't have a proper engagement ring."

Her eyes shone with affection. "Thank you," she whispered, and placing her hand on his shoulder, leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

His hands slid down her arms as she withdrew. "You're welcome," he promised, his blue eyes asserting that promise. He hooked her arm through his, turning them toward the house. "Best get you home for tea."

Candles flickered in the wall sconces, setting a warm glow to the exquisitely decorated house. Elizabeth had spared no expense, overlooked no detail, and was entirely pleased with herself. Better than that, there was no last-minute rush despite the limited planning time; her youngest daughter's engagement party had fallen into place as if it was meant to be.

Michaela paused in her descent of the stairs when she noticed Sully in the foyer, speaking with her mother. He looked up at that moment, the silken rustle of her skirts having given her away, and grinned knowingly up at her, moving to casually rest his hand on the banister as she came down to meet him. She grinned shyly, not having meant to put herself on display in this manner, and continued down the stairs.

"Oh, Michaela. You look just lovely. Perfectly charming!" Elizabeth cooed, kissing her daughter on the cheek as her slippered feet found the plush carpet of the foyer.

Michaela blushed. "Thank you, Mother." Turning to Sully, she pulled a blush-colored rose from her hair and slipped it into his lapel. "For you," she whispered. "It's supposed to bring luck." One corner of her mouth curved up in an impish grin, and he chuckled quietly, shaking his head. He knew she didn't rely on these conventions as her mother did, but she was embracing them with an energy and delight that was dazzling to watch.

Sully thought Michaela had never looked more radiant than she did at this moment. Her evening gown was of soft ivory silk, sprinkled with small printed pink and crimson roses, their tiny leaves accentuating the green flecks in her eyes. Pale pink blush roses were tucked along the front of the shoulder-baring neckline amidst sheer ivory organdy trimming, and the pagoda sleeves were softened with a whispered undersleeve of the same organdy, embroidered with floral eyelet stitching. A simple gold locket accentuated the graceful length of her neck, and more blush roses were tucked amongst the twists and curls of her hair. Above all, though, it was her countenance that made her more vibrant than ever – her eyes were fairly glowing with joy, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

His blue eyes appraised her warmly, and he took her hand, kissing it formally. "You look beautiful tonight, Michaela."

She smiled, humoring his gallantry, but didn't miss the sincerity in his expression. "Thank you," she whispered. "You're looking rather handsome yourself," she observed.

Michaela, too, found that Sully looked exceptional on this evening. There was nothing noticeably different about this black tuxedo, but there was something stronger, more settled, assured, and affectionate about him that transformed his outward appearance into something altogether appealing to her. More and more over the past several days, since purchasing their house, she had begun to identify in him a steadfast source of security and belonging, the world immediately feeling warmer, more comfortable when he entered a room.

"Thank you," he returned as he dipped his head in a subtle bow.

Banquet tables lined the edges of the ballroom, elegantly appointed in white linen, silver serving ware, and cut crystal. Silver candelabras crowned with flickering white candles lent a romantic glow to the elegant dinner, pink peonies and roses luxuriously filling the room with their sweet fragrance. Most had finished their delicate supper when Josef stood from his seat at the head table, the room falling silent in interested anticipation.

"Let me begin by thanking you all for coming to celebrate with us, this blessed engagement. I have known Sully since he was just a boy, and would have been just as proud then to welcome him into my family, as I am now. He has grown into an honorable man, and his devoted friendship to Michaela has been inscrutable for more than sixteen years." His expression grew tender as he turned to his daughter. "Michaela, Mike, my dear child, everything you have become in your life, both personally and professionally, has filled me with pride and joy. This marriage is no less, and I have immense hope for the fulfilling life you will lead together. May love fill your household, for life is nothing without it." Sully's eyes met Michaela's, both feeling confident that the bond of true friendship they shared would bring them much happiness. Josef's voice was thick with emotion at his last benediction, and he couldn't refrain from hugging his little girl fiercely before he again took his seat.

Clearing his throat, Sully stood, offering a surprised Michaela his hand to help her to her feet as well. "I'd like to say something too." His sincere eyes focused on her bewildered ones, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I know I didn't tell you I was going to do this, but it seems right that I do." She nodded, his strong hand the only antidote to the fluttering embarrassment she felt in her stomach. Sully turned to address the room, clutching her hand all the while. "Most of you know that Michaela and I have been best friends since we were just kids. I've never known anyone so smart, so strong, with such a big heart. There's no one I respect more than Michaela Quinn, and I will always honor her in our life together. I found this list of promises that Theodore Parker made to his wife, and it seemed fitting for how I feel about our upcoming marriage."

At this, he pulled a small slip of paper from his chest pocket, unfolding the well-known clergyman's words. "He was sure these resolutions would make his married life a happy one, and I'd like to resolve the same for us, Michaela," he explained. Seeing her affirming smile, he began, pausing between each promise. "'First, never, except for the best of reasons, to oppose my wife's will. To discharge all duties for her sake freely. Never to scold. Never to look cross at her. Never to weary her with commands. To promote her piety. To bear her burdens. To overlook her foibles." He grinned at the antiquated word, and found that she was, too. Sobering at the next line, he continued. "To save, cherish, and forever defend her. And last, to remember her always most fervently in my prayers. Thus, God willing, we shall be blessed'," he whispered, looking into her eyes, which were shimmering with grateful tears in the candlelight. "To sum it up, I promise to always be your best friend – honest and true – before anything else."

After supper, dessert had been served and dancing had begun, the grand march, cotillion, gavotte, and quadrille interspersed with waltzes, one blending into another. It was the last dance of the evening, and, as per custom, Sully had once again found his 'lady' for the final waltz.

Michaela, tired after an evening of dancing, felt her energy return to her as Sully's hand settled over the small of her back, his other hand cradling hers in classic position. Just his presence, and the sureness of his touch, infused in her a sense that all was right in the world, the demands of society, of the hospital, her mother, all falling away, fading in importance.

His eyes searched her face, seeing tiredness and joy taking equal residence there. "How're you doing?"

She smiled up at him. "Fine," her lip caught in her teeth, eyes smiling up at him. "Wonderful, really."

He smiled indulgently. "Good."

They were silent for a few steps, enjoying the simplicity of one another's company, warm and a little drowsy from the long evening festivities.

Michaela marveled at how comfortable she felt in his arms, and suddenly her eyes lit with amazement. "It's difficult to believe, after all this time, tonight is the first time we've danced together. And yet-"

"It feels right. Natural," he murmured, completely understanding her sentiment. He'd danced with many women over the years, always with a touch of awkwardness. With Michaela, dancing or anything else, it just felt easy.

"Yes," she breathed.

His expression sobered a little, and he leaned in slightly, not wanting others to overhear. "Did everything go okay with David during the quadrille?"

She smiled, appreciating his sensitivity. They'd both been surprised that Elizabeth had invited him, and then that he'd attended. "Yes, of course. If David is anything, he's a gentleman. I'm sure he doesn't understand the suddenness of our engagement, but propriety would never allow him to verbally question it. He's been kind and professional as always… Unfailingly so," she murmured reflectively. Part of her wished he would have fought for her, the subconscious part of her that longed for romantic love.

Sully, oblivious to the direction of her reflections, swallowed his mocking smile, trying to replace it with a kind one. "Good." That kindness and professionalism was what bugged him about David, but he knew it was just the way he was, and there was nothing malicious about the man.

Michaela nodded, turning her eyes to Sully and reveling in the comfort she found in his affectionate gaze, broad shoulders, strong hands. She had no regrets about marrying him in five weeks' time; if tonight was foreshadowing of their life together, it would be filled with warmth and happiness.

Rebecca was the last to leave, and after saying her goodbyes to Elizabeth, Josef, and Sully, hugged Michaela tightly before taking her husband's arm to descend to their waiting carriage. Josef bid his goodnights and retired for the evening, as Elizabeth went to find Martha, her mind unable to rest until the last piece of silver was put away.

Sully took Michaela's arm, leading her toward the morning room even as he spoke. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She turned inquisitive eyes toward him. "Of course…"

He sat her on the sofa near the dwindling fire, and sat next to her, leaning forward a little to rest his forearms on his knees.

"I got a telegram today. Looks like I'm going to have to go to Washington for a couple of weeks for some planning meetings in preparation for this next trip…" he sat up and angled himself toward her, finding her fingers mindlessly in the folds of her skirt, her eyes lowered and a hundred miles away. "They want me to meet with a bunch of senators and generals, but I'll be back in plenty of time for the wedding. I figure I'll just move into our house after that, so I can be around the couple of weeks before the wedding." He was rambling a little, but her reaction, or rather lack thereof, was making him a little nervous. He watched her for a moment. "Michaela?"

Her eyes rose to meet his, and she smiled faintly, seeing his concern. "I understand, Sully. Of course you have to work… I suppose I've just enjoyed these last several days."

He grinned. "Me too." He squeezed her hand. "I've got to leave the morning after next, and I thought tonight was as good an occasion as any to give you this." He pulled a flat, dark blue box from his jacket and handed it to her. She looked a little confused, but when she opened it, her mouth opened in surprise. Inside was a delicate pearl necklace, with diamonds set in delicate gold filigree in the center. There were matching diamond and pearl earbobs as well, small and delicate. Her fingers gently touched the tasteful set.

"Sully," she breathed, "I…"

"It's tradition for the groom to provide the bride's jewelry, and these reminded me of you." He spoke low, hearing Elizabeth bustling around in the dining room and not wanting to draw her attention.

"They're lovely, Sully, but you really didn't have to—" Grinning, he held up his hand, interrupting her.

"Like I said before, I wanted to," he said in earnest. He cast a glance over his shoulder, his voice lowering to a whisper as he leaned toward her conspiratorially. "And I figured if I didn't do it now, your mother would have found you something else by the time I got back."

She giggled. "Thank you, Sully, and I—"

"What is that?" Elizabeth's curious voice interrupted her, as she swept regally into the room, her eyes focused on the velvet-lined box in Michaela's hands.

Glancing at Sully, Michaela held out the box to her mother. "It's for the wedding, from Sully," she stated, a touch of pride in her voice.

"Why Sully, I must say you have impeccable taste. I wasn't aware you kept abreast of such wedding traditions." Elizabeth smiled her approval, and Sully grinned and surreptitiously winked at Michaela.

"I do my best."

"I can see that," she nodded briskly, handing the box back to her daughter. "Well, I am certainly exhausted. I suppose I'll retire for the evening." She cast Michaela a meaningful look, unwilling to leave the pair unchaperoned in the morning room in the middle of the night. "Michaela?"

"Mother?" It took her only a moment to catch on, and at this hour, decided not to argue the point of their friendship. "Yes, I think I'll retire as well," she said pointedly, and stood from her seat. Sully stood with her, containing his laughter at the silent conversation continuing between mother and daughter. She turned toward him as Elizabeth started slowly up the stairs. "Thank you again, Sully, for everything."

He grinned. "You're welcome." He walked with her to the stairs, and she paused on the third one, her skirts gathered in one hand, jewelry box clutched in the other, and turned to look back down to him.

"Good night." She smiled softly, a special light in her eyes.

He grinned, leaning casually on the banister. "'Night."

A/N: Oh, lucky you! Another long chapter! They're getting to be so common, they probably don't even seem long any more.

I know, you wish they would fall in love already… well, they are, even if they don't know it. One blessed day at a time. :) Savor it, dear friends!

Oh, and, *ahem*, I think you can guess what the next chapter brings!


	24. Chapter 23 The Wedding

Chapter 23

Dawning sunlight filtered through fine linen curtains in the tiled wash room, but as yet did little to warm the air surrounding the steaming tub. Michaela had shooed her mother from the room several minutes ago, knowing this would be her only opportunity for solitude today. Inexplicably, she was nervous. Anxious musings skittered around the necessity of this union, though she loved Sully dearly. The 'what ifs' were tormenting her; as soon as she made peace with one, another was nagging at her.

She released a slow breath in a vain attempt to rid herself of the confusing thoughts, mentally instructing herself to be reasonable. Biting her lip against uncertainty, she breathed one more deep, fortifying breath, closing her eyes to concentrate on the soothing heat of the water and peaceful quiet surrounding her… for the moment.

Rising from her rose-scented bath, Michaela methodically dried herself with a soft towel before slipping into her dressing gown, careful of the set of rollers in her hair, which she'd washed previous evening and let dry into ringlets overnight. Entering her room, she found every surface covered in delicately embroidered linen and silk, sweet-smelling flowers and exquisite accessories, each piece carefully laid out in preparation for her wedding day. Her mother stood at the foot of the bed, inspecting the bridal trousseau with her customary air of authority while Martha arranged each piece neatly, attentive to wayward threads and wrinkles. Rebecca stood before the window, clipping orange blossoms from their branches.

The clicking of the latch behind her alerted the women to her presence. Modesty wasn't a consideration in this company as they helped her dress, the only conversation gentle instructions and murmurs of approval as they went along. Elizabeth helped her remove her robe and step into lovely, soft lawn pantaloons hemmed with lace, Rebecca carefully lowering the painstakingly embroidered chemise over the rollers in her hair. Silk stockings were hooked to satin and lace garters beneath her pantaloons. The richly embroidered silk corset came next, Rebecca ensuring even gathering of the chemise beneath as Elizabeth tightened the lacing. They seated her before the vanity to arrange her hair, Elizabeth making suggestions as Rebecca arranged each piece to Michaela's specifications, taking hairpins from Martha. Finished except for the flowers, they helped her into luxurious silk petticoats, crinoline, and flounced over-petticoat, each lowered carefully over her hair arrangement, tied and buttoned at the waist.

It all felt surreal in a mechanical sort of way, a feeling Michaela couldn't shake. But she couldn't stop it, or slow it down. Everything was going so fast, and she felt as if her mind couldn't keep up.

Finally, the dress. Elizabeth had been able to secure the silk and lace concoction from a French dressmaker living in Boston. The ivory watered silk gown was almost white, smoothly trimmed in hand-worked Chantilly lace along the tip-of-the-shoulder neckline, three quarter length sleeves, waist, and hem. Almost finished, Martha helped her into white silk slippers as Elizabeth and Rebecca began to tuck flowers into her hair and fasten them to the sweeping neckline of her gown.

"Orange blossoms, Michaela, for faithfulness, love, and fruitfulness." Rebecca spoke the words almost as a benediction as she turned her toward the full-length mirror.

"And something old," Elizabeth intoned, pinning an elegant chantilly lace veil over Michaela's hair. "This was mine when I married your father. And now all of my daughters have worn it, too."

Michaela squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Mother."

"Something new – the necklace and ear bobs Sully gave you," Rebecca said softly as she fastened the delicate necklace around Michaela's neck, allowing Michaela to insert the earbobs on her own, a soft smile on her lips. "Something borrowed – my handkerchief. I embroidered it for my hope chest."

Michaela hugged her gently, careful not to crush the flowers on her dress. "Thank you, Rebecca."

"And something blue." Elizabeth turned from the nightstand holding a small nosegay of vividly blue flowers.

Michaela's mouth dropped open in shock. "Are those-?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Virginia spiderwort. You told me about them once, that summer we visited the Nordheims, and I thought they might bring back memories for you."

"They do." And then, as the memories filled her mind, that distant, mechanical feeling faded away, leaving her with that sense of pervading peace she felt when she was with Sully. She sighed, feeling tears well in her eyes at the relief she felt.

"And a silver sixpence in your shoe," Rebecca giggled, and Michaela joined her, the laughter lightening her mood. Rebecca helped Michaela slip it under her instep, and kissing her on the cheek, they helped her to the waiting carriage.

Two doors down in the first guest room, Sully was wiping the last traces of lather from his freshly-shaven jaw. He combed his fingers over his long hair, satisfied that it had decided to lay nicely today.

Breathing in deeply, he steeled himself for the decision he now had to make, wrinkling his nose once more at the suit Elizabeth had hung on the door of the chiffarobe. He chuckled quietly to himself. This was ridiculous. He decided to try it on anyway – maybe it would look better on. The short, blue velvet jacket and fitted lavender pants must be the latest style, or she wouldn't have chosen it. He ran his hand over the rich velvet covering his torso. They'd conceded most things to Elizabeth, but this he just couldn't do. Maybe other men wore this, but he wasn't other men, and this would be too embarrassing.

Shucking the ensemble and carefully hanging it back up, he turned to the stylish black suit she'd chosen for him to change into after the breakfast. This, at least, felt somewhat normal. He would just wear the same thing all day.

Donning it, he felt satisfied. It was definitely more formal than his other suits, and since it was brand new, still had a nice crisp look to it. It would do.

He hopped up and down a couple of times and rubbed his hands together, releasing some of his nerves. He felt oddly anxious, both cautious and excited, about today, and hoped Michaela was alright. Elizabeth was probably fawning all over her, and he knew that wouldn't help the lingering traces of uncertainty she was feeling, whether she would admit them or not.

It wasn't Josef's warm arm, but Sully's steady gaze that reinforced Michaela's courage as she stepped down the aisle toward him. She clung to the nosegay of spiderwort in her hands in a desperate effort to feel the happy reality of what she was doing, keeping at bay the sense of detachedness she had felt earlier. As Josef placed her cold, trembling hand in her best friend's warm, steady one, she focused on his reassuring blue gaze, feeling the doubt and confusion dissolve considerably.

The minister spoke in a deep, resonant voice that filled the austere sanctuary with heartfelt sobriety, despite the scripted words that established the content of the ceremony. "Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. … The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God's will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord…"

Michaela felt fresh anxiety bloom in her stomach – union of heart, body, and mind…within the purposes instituted by God – she bit her lip nervously. Was this all a terrible mistake? She felt guilty for deliberately defying this aspect of marriage, but tried to shake it off. They had both willingly agreed to proceed this way. The minister continued without pause.

"Therefore, marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God.

"Into this holy union Michaela Quinn and Byron Sully now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now; or else forever hold your peace."

The congregation was silent, but Michaela's heart was hammering with guilt. Nervously, Michaela cast a sideways glance at Sully, who smiled reassuringly toward her.

Her mind racing, the minister's voice startled her, though she managed to maintain a serene mask of composure. "Michaela, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

Those things she could promise, but… "I will," she whispered, a tentative smile on her lips. The minister's short nod affirmed her statement. He turned then to Sully.

"Sully, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"I will." He spoke confidently, drawing Michaela's attention to him once more. Distractedly she realized how much she was relying on his strength, his calm, his confidence. When had she let go of her staid independence? Inwardly, she straightened her shoulders, steadying her composure against her turbulent emotions.

"Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?"

"We will," the congregation promised dutifully. Michaela wondered fleetingly how many of them meant it, beyond her immediate family. Were they all deceiving one another?

"Who gives this woman to marry this man?"

"I do," Josef boomed proudly. The confidence in his voice calmed Michaela, if only a little. This was good. It was the right thing. She and Sully had openly discussed every issue, and agreed with no reservations. It would be alright.

"Let us pray. O gracious and everliving God, look mercifully upon this man and this woman who come to you seeking your blessing, and assist them with your grace, that with true fidelity and steadfast love they may honor and keep the promises and vows they make. _Amen._

"This is the word of God: 'Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.'"

Finished, the minister nodded to Sully, who turned to Michaela, taking her right hand in his. His eyes again reassured her as he squeezed her shaking fingers.

"In the Name of God, I, Sully, take you, Michaela, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow." He meant it, she could tell, and the beauty of the promises began to seep into her heart.

"Michaela, please take Sully's right hand in your own," the minister's gentle voice guided her.

Trying to focus only on him, she took a calming breath before she began. "In the Name of God, I, Michaela, take you, Sully, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

"You may loose your hands. Please bring forward the ring," he said gently to a little boy standing to the side in a blue velvet suit.

Claudette's young son Harold came forward with the ring, which Sully removed from the pillow on which it rested, and handed it to the minister, who held it between thumb and forefinger as he prayed.

"Bless, O Lord, this ring to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other; through Jesus Christ our Lord. _Amen."_

Sully took it, sliding the simple gold band onto Michaela's finger, the cool metal affirming its newness next to the engagement ring on her finger. He spoke low, not caring whether his voice carried to the last row of pews.

"Michaela, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of God."

Listening to him, she felt grounded for the first time today. She smiled into his eyes, and he saw the familiar light reside in hers for the first time since he'd seen her today. In that moment, he knew she believed him. He had been worried she was regretting this; he could tell she had been having a hard time absorbing it all. He felt his own nerves calm a little.

"Join right hands, please." The minister waited as Sully took Michaela's hand, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand soothingly, and he felt her trembling lessen. "Now that Michaela and Sully have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder."

On their own, the congregation affirmed his benediction, "Amen."

The minister engulfed their clasped hands in his own. "God bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with his favor look upon you, and fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace; that you may faithfully live together in this life, and in the age to come have life everlasting. _Amen."_

Releasing their hands, he looked at Sully keenly. With a twinkle in his eye, he whispered, "You may kiss your bride."

Michaela's hand flinched in Sully's, her eyes widening for an instant that only Sully observed. She had completely forgotten about the kiss. It hadn't even occurred to her. Suddenly, she felt the weight of a hundred expectant gazes on her shoulders, and felt unable to bear it.

Sully's hold of her fingers tightened, and she lifted her eyes to him through the veil. _Trust me. It's ok. Just trust me, _she felt himsay. She held her breath as he lifted the veil over her head, one hand lightly cupping her elbow as the forefinger of the other rested beneath her chin, exerting no pressure, just support. His lips touched hers, sure and warm, but before she could register the feeling, it was over.

They were alone in the carriage on their way back to the Quinn residence for the wedding breakfast before she registered that it was over. Watching her closely, Sully saw her eyes come into focus, the round white humps of the horses' backs becoming clear. He covered her hand in his, squeezing gently to get her attention as he turned toward her.

"You okay?"

Her gaze drifted to him. "Hm?" He smiled, waiting for her to register his words. "I… yes, I'm fine. I—" Her gaze fell down to her lap, absently studying their hands.

He knew the kiss had thrown her. Compassionately, he squeezed her hand. "I forgot about it, too."

Her eyes flew back to his, doubt and hope cohabitating in the emerald and amber. "You did?"

"Yep," he said simply, leaning back and watching the buildings pass by them.

"But, you… you seemed as if…"

He patted her hand. "Just have to act like you know what you're doing sometimes… You sure you're okay?" He eyed her again, knowing she must feel stirred up inside.

She smiled weakly. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll just be glad to get through this breakfast and on our way."

Sully chuckled, leaning over to nudge her shoulder with his. "You and me both."

A/N: I'm curious to hear your comments on this one! I'm sure I dashed a few hopes when it came to the kiss, in fact, I know I did. But their time will come. Soon!

PS – I did a little research. Circa 1859, weddings happened mostly in the morning, followed by a lavish breakfast. The suit Elizabeth chose for Sully was traditional, but I just couldn't picture him doing it. Believe it or not, I shortened the script of the service (out of the Episcopalian's book of common prayer – they are a nice blend of Catholic and protestant, and I was never quite clear on Michaela's precise background). Michaela's dress, the orange blossoms, and all were traditional as well. Both the bride's and the groom's attire in those days were largely influenced by Queen Victoria's 1840 wedding, though white dresses were rather rare, and as far as I can tell, reserved for the elite. I just thought it would be fun for you to know…


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Michaela strolled into the comfortably appointed honeymoon suite in front of Sully, moving toward the picture window as he tipped the bellman and closed the door. Hearing the latch click, she removed her hat, setting it on the vanity next to her and straightening the jacketed bodice of her sky blue traveling dress. She heard the springs on the bed squeak a little as Sully sat upon it, and turned to find him leaning back on his hands having already shucked is suit jacket, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, grinning at her.

She giggled, the feeling of freedom dancing through her veins, raising her eyebrows in question. "What are you grinning at?"

He shrugged casually. "Just glad to be here, away from all the society and formality of everything, just you and me."

"So am I." She smiled, crossing the room to perch next to him on the edge of the bed. "I wish there had been time for us to travel west, but being in Maine brings back such memories."

He scooted around on the bed so he could lean back on the headboard. "Does that mean you're gonna be chasing me down the shore in the morning?" A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes, and Michaela scoffed.

"Savoring memories is one thing, Mr. Sully. Reliving them is quite another," she scolded, but her smile was wide as she shook her head at him.

He scooted over to lean against the headboard, accepting her words with a grin. "Come on, come sit next to me." He patted area of coverlet next to him. "We've never been able to just sit and talk as much as we wanted before."

A shadow of shyness passed over Michaela's features, but recklessly, she cast it aside, deciding to embrace this new freedom an unconventional marriage had bought her. Gingerly, in order to accommodate her skirts, she scooted over next to him, feeling the bones of her corset holding her upright even as she tried to relax against the headboard.

Their legs stretched out in front of them, they talked into the night, never once touching on the practical details and planning that had absorbed them in the weeks prior to the wedding. Instead, they talked about themselves, the upcoming probability of war within the states, the friends they had made in the woods so many years ago, the nosegay of spiderwort, the cast aside velvet coat, Sully's travels, subjects big and small which were meaningful or amusing to them. Their conversation trailed effortlessly into the dark hours of the night, candles burning low in their sconces, the moon passing slowly through the starlit sky.

Michaela stirred, feeling the painful strain in the muscles of her neck. With the movement, she felt the hard edges of her corset dig further into the flesh her hips and back. Belatedly, she realized she had been leaning against Sully as she slept, her head on his shoulder. Absorbed as she was orienting herself to her surroundings, she jumped at the sound of Sully's voice.

"Morning." He helped her sit up a little, watching her try to hide little grimaces of pain.

"Good morning." She touched her hair, thinking it must look a mess.

"You look about as stiff as I am."

She giggled. "It's certainly possible." She watched him stretch his arms and rub his own stiff neck. "You could have woken me." It was a gentle scolding, her eyes appealing to him to forgive her for falling against him in her sleep.

He held her gaze for a moment, "I haven't been awake more than a few minutes," he said matter-of-factly. He stood and stretched, then surveyed the room. "Looks like there's both a wash room and a dressing room in here. How would you feel about having the maid draw a bath for each of us?"

She stood, feeling her joints and muscles further complain about the uncomfortable night she'd put them through. "That sounds wonderful. As does breakfast and coffee."

Sully felt his stomach gnaw at him in response to her suggestion. "I'll ring for the maid."

Twenty minutes later, Michaela was struggling against her stiff neck muscles to untie her corset. She refused to ask Sully for help, but part of her wondered if she would have to. Just as she was thinking she might have to give up, the knot came loose, and she was able to loosen the lacing enough to slip out of the offending contraption. Slipping her chemise and pantaloons to the floor, she gratefully rubbed the sore red impressions on her ribs and hips, reveling in the renewed flow of blood and air to the area. Leaving her hair in its arrangement for now, she slipped into the steaming bath, feeling the water burn the reddened indentations on her skin left behind by the corset and the creased gathers of her chemise. It was a welcome relief though, since the corset would have to come back on in a few minutes. Tonight she would appreciate her nightdress more than she ever had before.

Sully sat in his bath until the water had gone cool, knowing it would likely take a while for Michaela to get herself out of everything she was wearing, and back into something else. He wasn't sure what all that entailed, but his impression was that it was complicated. Drying off, he pulled on some of his more comfortable trousers and a shirt, leaving it hanging open while he shaved. Tucking in his shirt, he emerged into the main room and was surprised to see Michaela already fully dressed and sitting at the vanity, brushing out her hair. It fell in soft, silken curls nearly to her waist, shimmering auburn in the sunlight coming through the window. In awe, he came up behind her and touched it lightly where it fell over her shoulder.

"Seeing your hair like this reminds me of when we were kids…" he murmured, gazing at the richness of it. "…the way it used to swish around when you'd move about…"

She smiled, "that was a long time ago," she said softly. She watched him through the mirror, noting at the far away expression in his eyes. A little embarrassed by the attention, she began pulling it back in pieces, arranging it for the day. Her movements caused him to back away, but he watched her hands move about as if they had eyes of their own, fascinated with her ability to create the arrangement quickly and beautifully without seeing what she was doing.

Gradually, the slim, straight line of her back was revealed, and the curve of her neck. His throat went dry when he realized he'd been thinking how pretty she was, a thought that surprised him because he'd so deliberately buried it long ago, a thought he wouldn't allow himself now. Decidedly, he turned to the breakfast tray the bellman had brought during their baths, and poured them each a cup of coffee, the rich, earthy aroma of which helped to dispel the suppressed emotions that had a moment before knocked at the door of his heart.

Placing a final pin in her hair, Michaela rose and joined him at the small table that had been placed before the picture window, where they breakfasted on delicate soft-boiled eggs and thick slices of bread spread with wild blueberry jam.

The passage of an hour found them at the shore, not fifty feet from the inn. The fresh, salty sea breeze invigorated them and filled both with memories of days exploring the shore, swimming, looking for caves, inspecting tide pools.

Michaela, wanting to avoid cleaning sand from her freshly washed feet, kept her boots on even after Sully shed his shoes and socks. A few minutes later, she found that sand was working its way into the laces, folds, and eyelets of her boots, and deciding this was worse than cleaning her feet, stopped to remove them.

They were strolling along, watching seagulls swoop down over the crashing waves, when Michaela suddenly felt Sully's arm circle her waist, pulling her gently, securely, closer to him. His hand rested on her side, holding her there, and she turned her perplexed eyes toward him just as she heard the soft tenor of a woman's voice.

"Byron, is that you?"

Michaela's gaze swept to the source of the voice, to find a tall, lovely woman standing before them, looking at Sully. She was slender and curvy in the most fashionable way, with golden hair and striking violet-blue eyes. Her cheekbones were high and rosy, complementing what the magazines would call a perfect rosebud mouth. Long lashes and a perfect oval shaped face perfected her image, the pink taffeta of her dress accentuating every feminine detail of her.

Sully's voice broke Michaela from her observations. "It is. I go by Sully now, though."

"But Byron is such a handsome name." The woman's eyes sparkled in clear admiration. Michaela discreetly cut her eyes to Sully, then lowered them, hiding a knowing smile.

Sully squeezed Michaela's side, then ran his hand up to her shoulder. "Uh, this is my wife, Dr. Michaela Quinn. Michaela, this is Carrie Gibony – we grew up going to the same church."

Michaela's stomach flipped, recognizing the name of the girl Sully had considered pursuing as a teenager, and she forced a wan smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Carrie nodded. "And you as well. A doctor – how…rare. And you kept your maiden name?" It was stated in a rhetorical tone, and she didn't wait for an answer. "Well, I suppose I must congratulate you, Byr—I mean, Sully. My, but it's been a long time. You disappeared on me when you went off to school. I never heard from you again," she scolded mildly, the saucy curve to her lips unable to hide the disappointment in her eyes. Her voice was sweet and controlled, so much so that Michaela couldn't tell if Carrie was trying to condescend to them, or if she was reading into it.

A tall, handsome gentleman with stone blue eyes and elegantly oiled wavy brown hair joined their group, saving Sully the necessity of a reply. "Carrie, there you are my dear. I'm afraid I couldn't find your gloves anywhere." He turned to Michaela and Sully. "Hello, lovely day isn't it? My name is R—Byron?" The man's eyes raked Sully's features, then darted to Michaela, and back.

"Hello, Roy. I was just telling Carrie I go by Sully these days." His hand moved back down Michaela's back, settling once more around her waist. "This is my wife, Michaela."

He nodded to her, clearly impressed with the beautiful woman at Sully's side. "A pleasure, madam. Congratulations, Sully, I didn't know you'd married. What are you up to these days?"

"Yes," Carrie interjected, "Do tell. I rather expected you'd moved out west by now."

"I travel back and forth quite a bit. I've been doing a lot of negotiating for the government between the settlers, the Indians, and the army."

"Fascinating. Those must be some – rough – dialogues, I expect."

Sully's mouth formed a tight smile, not wishing to elaborate with his old classmate. "What about you? Last I heard, I think you were considering the banking industry."

"Yes, and it's served me well. I always did enjoy working with numbers."

Sully's hand tightened on Michaela's waist, silently urging her not to contradict what he was about to say. "I remember that. Well, it was nice running into both of you, but Michaela and I were just heading back to town—"

"Oh, but I hope you'll join us for supper," Carrie interrupted, "we're dining at this lovely little restaurant out on the cliffs at the northern edge of town – the Dover, I think it is, isn't it Roy?"

"That's right, dear. We'd love for you to join us, for old time's sake, Sully."

Sully looked at Michaela, whose accommodating smile told him she would defer to him. Knowing if declined, they would likely insist on another meeting, Sully reluctantly decided to accept. "Thanks. We'll meet you there around seven."


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Returning to their room after supper, Michaela preceded Sully into the room in silence, removing her shawl and gloves. She perched on the chaise before the fire, which the bellman had laid in the grate while they were gone. Absently, she fingered the gathers of her dress as she gazed into the flames, consternation slightly creasing her brow.

Sully, watching her, checked his own frustration. Dinner had gone better than he expected. Carrie and Roy had been pleasant, and they had parted on good terms. Michaela had been amiable, intelligent, and engaged in the conversation, and he could tell the other couple had been impressed by her. Yet they didn't know her like he did, and though he couldn't identify it, he knew something had been bothering her.

Crossing the suite, he sat next to her, their shoulders nearly touching, but his legs facing the opposite direction so he could see her face clearly. He tried to remain casual, calm, and leaned on his hands as he felt the warmth of the fire on his back.

"You going to tell me what you're fretting about?"

Her brow creased further, and she looked down at her hands. "I'm not fretting," she protested. It was a weak denial at best.

"You haven't looked me in the eyes all evening." He waited, watching her worry her bottom lip between her teeth. He softened his tone. "Tell me," he urged.

She was silent for a moment as she considered how to express her thoughts. "It's complicated, Sully."

He bit back a sigh. "We'll take it slow then. You know you can tell me anything."

"Carrie's a very lovely person…very beautiful," she murmured, raising her chin to look into the flames.

His eyes narrowed. "I suppose she is."

Her eyes dropped back to her lap. "She and Roy don't seem very close…"

"I don't know about that. You know it isn't seen as proper to show affection in public. They might've thought the same about us."

Her eyes met his. "But we—"

"They don't know that."

"No, I suppose not. I just… I couldn't help but notice Carrie's interest in you…" She didn't dare look at him, though she watched for his reaction out of the corner of her eye.

Stunned for a moment, he scoffed, realization hitting him hard in the chest. "You're jealous." His tone belied his disbelief.

She looked at him, indignance flaring in both pairs of eyes. "I am not jealous. I'm merely…" she sighed, searching for the right words. "I'm… concerned… that I may have stolen something from you…" She studied the flames once more, their dancing rhythm mocking her somehow. "What if you could have been happy with her?"

"I broke it off with her, remember? And they got married years ago. She wasn't waiting around for me."

"Yes, but—"

"Why do you think I put my arm around you this afternoon?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "I wanted her to know it was over, that I wasn't interested." Michaela remained silent, her brow creasing with her deepening confusion. He leaned toward her, his blue eyes blazing into hers. "Do you think I haven't been worried about the day some new good-looking doctor shows up at the hospital, supports you professionally, makes you laugh, cares about you, falls in love with you?"

"Sully, I would never—"

His expression softened. "I know you wouldn't. Neither would I, Michaela. Don't you see? We've committed to each other. There isn't another option. In that sense, we're just as conventional as anyone else."

"I know that. I just…" she sighed, having difficulty reconciling her confusing feelings.

"You've got to trust me, Michaela. Not just to remain faithful. But you've got to trust that I willingly gave up falling in love with someone else just the same as you did. We didn't steal anything from each other. We chose this."

She turned large, humbled eyes on him, lustrous with tears. "I know we did. Happily so."

"It was happy for me, too. What we have is special, Michaela. No one's ever understood me like you do. They haven't challenged me like you do, either. There's a million things about you that make me want to be around you. I'd trade that for some typical Victorian romance any day."

She smiled a little. "Me, too, Sully. I suppose listening to our vows yesterday, and then meeting Carrie today, I just—"

"You think too much." His eyes were soft, compassionate as he squeezed her hand.

"Perhaps," she acquiesced.

"The vows were all true, you know. We didn't lie. Maybe the meant something a little different for us, but that doesn't make them less true."

"Perhaps not, but..."

"And we care more about each other than a lot of couples who get married these days. Truly loving someone is a lot deeper than just being in love."

She shook her head, amazed and somehow calmed at his simple insight. "That's true."

He rubbed her shoulder, seeing peace move over her countenance. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

Slipping under the covers, Michaela was glad she'd remained in her chemise and bloomers beneath her high-necked nightdress. She felt much more covered. Opening her medical journal, she waited for Sully, who had secretly done his best to take his time, allowing Micheala the privacy to get in bed unobserved. He emerged a moment later from behind the water closet wearing blue ticking-striped pajamas.

"Want me to leave the window open?"

"Yes, if you don't mind. The breeze feels lovely."

She lay her journal aside as he climbed in to the bed, and they put out the lamps. Michaela lay stiffly on her back in the dark, her hands folded over the covers as she stared at the ceiling. Sully tucked one hand beneath his head, letting the other rest on his torso. He wondered if they were staring at the same spot, he could feel her tension.

"You okay?" he whispered. "I can sleep on the floor if you want."

"There's no need. I'm fine."

"Good." There was a slight pause. "'Night Michaela."

"Goodnight, Sully."

A cold sea wind fluttered through the curtains, cooling the suite with its fresh, salty fragrance. Subconsciously, Sully breathed deep, savoring the fresh air. Different from mountain air, sea air was just as refreshing. He began to stretch, luxuriating in the fresh air, his fingers just barely lifting before a warm weight around his upper arm stopped him.

Opening his eyes, he lifted his head a little to find Michaela huddled around his arm, her face pressed against his warm, cotton-covered shoulder. He smiled indulgently as he felt his chest fill with tenderness. She must be cold.

The blankets were around their hips, and he guessed he'd pushed them down himself as he always did. Most likely, in her sleep she hadn't realized that and had instead instinctively sought the warmth she found next to her. For a moment, he considered turning toward her and wrapping her in his arms, something about her sweetness at this moment made him want to protect her, but knew that would be straining a boundary that was at the moment tenuous. Instead, he used his free hand to pull the covers back over them, making sure to cover her up to her shoulders as best he could.

In the distant, airy space between sleep and wakefulness, Michaela pressed closely to a lone column of warmth. She was internally warm with sleep, but her skin felt cold. She pressed her face against the warmth, finding relief for her forehead and nose, and curling her arms in front of her, found warmth for them as well. She still felt cold, but the little but of warmth was enough to keep her from waking.

The spicy, earthy smell of the warmth, and its smooth, solid feeling, with just a little give, was comforting. A cool breeze blew over her again, cooling her ear, cheek, shoulder, hip, back. She sank further against the solid heat in front of her. And then, a soothing weight drew over her, and moments later, grew warm. The warmth seeped through her, and she sank deeper into sleep, away from the wakefulness that had teased the edges of her senses.

Watching her, he felt her relax a little as her body warmed. The sheer volume of the tenderness he felt for her made his chest hurt. Her insecurities drove him crazy sometimes, but they were also what made her so special. She didn't seem to understand how incredible she was, and that unassuming nature let all her strengths stand on their own. But there was pride mixed in their, too, and it was the mix that had always captured his attention. Here she was now, vulnerably seeking his warmth, always unsure in personal matters, but at dinner, she had been a powerhouse of knowledge, strength, and wit, never wavering. She was a captivating presence, in every possible way, and he felt honored to have the privilege of sharing moments like this with her.

He allowed himself to doze as his thoughts streamed one into another. Never one to sleep in or pass a laze morning, it was kind of nice to relax and wait for Michaela to wake up. He felt so comfortable. With the covers pulled up and the cool air from the ocean, he was the perfect temperature, and he felt as if he could lay in this exact position forever.

Dozing somewhere just slightly removed from full consciousness, he felt Michaela stir a little against his arm, press further into it, and then pull away a fraction of an inch. Realizing she was waking up, Sully was instantly alert but feigned sleep, knowing now as he had known – was it fifteen minutes ago? an hour? he'd lost track – that she wouldn't be comfortable with this kind of physical closeness, and he respected that. He would let her bring it up if she wanted to, but he wouldn't force her to by letting on that he knew.

Slowly, she rolled away, and if he really had been asleep, he wouldn't have known any better. She paused, laying very still, listening to his breathing he supposed, before she stood, donned her robe, and disappeared into the water closet.

Splashing water over her face, Michaela tried to calm her pounding heart. She had been cold, she remembered that now, but she was mortified that she'd snuggled against Sully rather than pulled up the covers. What would he have thought had he been awake? Well, he hadn't been. Drying her face with a soft towel, she took a few deep breaths. She needed to look normal when she went out to choose her dress for the day.

Silk skirts clutched in her hands, Michaela scrambled over the craggy boulders and slippery moss, trying not to fall more than a few steps behind Sully's steady stride. Finally, the boulders leveled out into a flat, rough cliff, and he steadied her elbow as she adjusted her pace to the smoother terrain. Moving ahead of her as she straightened her skirts, Sully stood still, his wide shoulders cutting a clean, strong silhouette against the ocean vista before him. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she watched him, noticing that he seemed to be absorbing the scene into his very being. She covered the last few steps to come up next to him, and he turned to look at her as she joined him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice held a tone of awe and respect.

"Yes, it certainly is."

They were silent for long moments, watching the white-capped waves roll in so far below them, the seagulls soaring above, the ocean grasses below rippling in the breeze with waves of their own. Rocks rose roughly out of the sand, forming tide pools and cliffs before giving way to dense forest.

"This is what I love about being out west."

Slowly, her eyes moved from the panorama to Sully's strong profile, solemnly reflective in the soft, cloud-diffused light. She had wondered for a moment if he was teasing her, but his expression made it clear that he was simply sharing with her.

"The solitude?"

He glanced at her warmly, lifting his chin in an affirming nod. "Out there, almost anywhere they send me, I can ride a few minutes in almost any direction and be totally alone."

"It must be so peaceful," she murmured, feeling the calm of the waves wash over her.

"It is, sometimes. But I need it, with all the conflict I deal with. Most people don't care about anything but their own gain."

The thought saddened her, and her eyes reflected her troubled spirit. "Where are you going this time?"

"Colorado territory. Somewhere outside of Denver. This trip is mostly just scouting the area, finding the Indian reservations and villages, white man's farms outside of town, main roads, meeting some folks, and checking out the areas that might cause conflict. After I come back and make my report, they might send me back."

"Is it safe?" Somehow, the danger inherent in his work seemed more significant now than it had before. This close companionship she felt with him was important to her, more now than ever. After what felt like a lifetime of occasional visits, she didn't want to see him go, and the thought of something hurting him, preventing his return, was worse yet.

He shrugged casually, closing the subject for now. "As safe as any other trip. Come on, what do you say we explore some of the tide pools down there?"

Cupping her arm, he guided her over toward a different path, and together they wound their way down to the shore.


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

She curtsied, her pearl-colored ball gown luminescent in the soft moonlight, and he took her hand, leading her into a fluid waltz. His hair was long, wavy, unexpected, but attractive framing his now rugged features. His eyes were more saturated than she remembered, and his presence filled a void, or reversed a sense of apathy, she had felt for too long but never recognized until now. She smiled, and he echoed the sentiment, and the affection present in his countenance was at once familiar and new.

Waning sunlight glittered off the rippling surface of a secluded Maine lake, the golden twilight glowing upon their faces. Two forms sat upon the small beach, one, strong and muscular, lounging comfortably, elbows resting upon his knees, and the other, small and delicate, sitting erect, flowing skirts arranged carefully over curled legs. She giggled, and he laughed silently, his body shaking as evidence of his mirth. He looked at her, his face open and glad, blue eyes twinkling with complete happiness, and she felt warm, giddy.

She ran through the surf, the morning sun warm and bright above her, the waves rolling in heedless of her presence, bare ankles splashing through the cold water. She squealed as he caught up to her, grabbing her about the waist and swinging her around over the shining water. She squealed his name, laughing even as she scolded him, and he put her down, circling around so he was facing her. Chuckling, he backed up, watching her, his eyes, deep and bright as the sky above them, smiling with mischief. Happiness compelled her forward, and then he was running as she gave chase, knowing she would never catch him. He turned to splash at her, teasing, and she shied away, sprinting in the opposite direction, and within moments, she heard his feet splashing behind her, and he caught her up in his arms, her flailing efforts to free herself bringing them both into the sand, laughing and gasping for air.

She pressed her face into his shoulder, her nose into the slight crevice between his arm and mattress, relishing the solid warmth, the spicy, earthy scent, the sheets smooth and fresh around her. Selfishly, she rolled closer, seeking his strength and heat, and was disappointed, finding only cool, soft pillows. Disappointment woke her, the chill settling in even as she pulled the blankets up around her throat. She was alone.

* * *

Michaela allowed Harrison to take her coat, still feeling distracted by and vaguely unsettled from her dreams. There was nothing wrong with them, really, they were good dreams, happy dreams. It was just that she felt his absence already, and the images in her dreams had seemed so real, so very, very real. Sully had been gone two weeks, and wasn't scheduled to return for four more. Straightening her dress, she forced a smile as she entered the joint office she shared with her father in the Quinn's home, settling herself at her side of the partner's desk.

Josef was deep into a patient chart, a medical reference open to his left. He looked up as she walked in, noting not only her slight tardiness, but her weary expression and determined lack of eye contact.

"Mike! Good morning."

"Good morning, Father," she said neutrally, determined not to show her irritation with herself.

His eyes narrowed in concern as he assessed her, shortly concluding it was not something physical that bothered her.

"Have you heard from Sully recently?"

"Hm?" She feigned oblivion. "Oh, yes, there was a telegram from him last night when I returned home," she continued casually. "He's finally arrived in Colorado, and maintains hope that he'll be finished in two weeks time."

"Very good, very good," he responded thoughtfully, his fatherly grey eyes studying her keenly. Reaching over the desk, he covered her hand in his, stopping her busy, determined writing. When she looked up at him, compassionate grey eyes smiled upon her. "Do you miss him, Little One?"

Caught off guard by his uncanny, though not surprising, read of her, her mouth dropped open for a moment before she could respond. She dipped her head, embarrassed. "I think so," she breathed with courage, feeling the sentiment become real as she spoke.

He patted her hand, and leaned back, smiling gently before he picked up his pen. "Well, that's normal, I suppose," and he began writing.

She stared at him, considering reminding him that she and Sully weren't normal, but stopped herself. There was nothing wrong with missing her best friend.

* * *

Sully shook the mine owner's hand firmly.

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Simon. I appreciate your flexibility and look forward to meeting with you again."

"Well, that's just fine, Mr. Sully, but you've gotta call me Daniel. There's no use bein' so formal around here."

"Thank you, Daniel. And you can call me Sully, that's how most people know me."

Daniel chuckled. "I imagine that means there's a fine given name hid'n' in your pocket, isn't there?" The knowing grin he gave Sully indicated the question was mostly rhetorical.

"Maybe." The shook hands. "I'll be seein' ya, Daniel."

Sully mounted his horse, carefully, ever conscious of the dangers, as he had been since he'd learned to ride, out of necessity, on his last trip west.

Sitting in front of the fire that night, he pushed aside his paperwork, feeling hopeful that Daniel's generous spirit would positively influence the army. He pulled out the faded portrait Michaela had given him ten years ago, the one he always traveled with. She must have been sixteen then, just a young girl, and despite the fading and wear on the photograph and significant passage of time, her eyes came to life in his mind, vibrant as ever, the coppery sheen to her hair shimmering in the light of his lone candle, her mouth quirking into that little lopsided grin. Michaela.

He put the photograph next to the candle, where it could catch the flickering light, while he took out the letter he'd received today. She must have sent it shortly after he left. Opening the fine linen envelope, he pulled out the matching stationary, catching just a faint whiff of that light, sweet scent she had always carried, rubbed off her wrist as she wrote, no doubt.

_Dear Sully,_

_I hope you've arrived in Colorado safe and sound by now. I pray constantly for your health and success in your negotiations. Please describe everything to me; I want to know about your experiences there._

_As we'd hoped, Jane and Cummings are treasures. I've thanked Martha again for her recommendation of them. We're getting along quite well, and though they still insist on calling us Dr. Quinn and Mr. Sully, I believe they will be dear friends as well as employees. They seem to be quite in love as well, and enjoy living and working together as a married couple, butler and maid. Perhaps we will hear the pitter patter of little feet in our home after all! But despite their friendship, I look forward to your return. _

_My practice is as well as it has ever been, fraught with sufficient conflict to sharpen both my skill and my political prowess, and blessed with the tireless encouragement and support of my father. In the midst of it all, I am so happy to be truly helping people, especially those who might otherwise go untreated._

_Please, write soon. I shall eagerly anticipate hearing of your travels._

_Affectionately,_

_Michaela_

He dropped the letter on the table, picking up the photograph again, and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his thumb gently over her face. After all the years he had spent alone, thinking he'd never see her again, it was strange how things had changed. Being married had, in only ten days together, made him feel entitled to talking with her, sharing life with her. Being alone now he felt lonely, and longed to be with her again. He missed her company.

Plopping the portrait on top of her letter, he pulled out a sheet of his own paper, and began to write.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Dr. Quinn."

"Hello Cummings," Michaela returned, stepping into the cool house. It had been a long and rewarding day at the hospital, and little Jennie Moyer was fast improving from pneumonia, cheerful in spite of her maladies, and her tight hug at the end of the day had been enough to chase away Michaela's fatigue.

"You've mail in the study, including a letter from Colorado, perhaps from Mr. Sully?" He looked pleased with himself, happy that he could be the bearer of good news.

She smiled faintly, aware once more that not even Cummings and his wife Jane knew the circumstances of her marriage with Sully, and he must be thinking her longing for him went beyond what she actually felt. "Thank you Cummings."

There wasn't sufficient time before Jane had supper ready to read his letter, and so it wasn't until they had finished their after-supper coffee that she retired to the study to read it. Settled at Sully's desk, from which he would work while he was at home, she turned up the lamp a little and picked up his letter, smiling to herself at his loose script. Carefully tearing open the flap, she extracted the letter.

_Michaela,_

_I never was very good at writing letters, but I hope this finds you well. Thank you for writing so soon – it was nice to have a letter on such a short trip. By the time you get this, I'll probably be on my way home._

_I'm glad to hear about Jane and Cummings. It will be nice to spend more time with them when I get back. And I'm glad things aren't too difficult with your practice. You are a good doctor – probably the best – and I know everything will turn out just right._

_Colorado is beautiful. The mountains are always there in the distance, sometimes big, sometimes small, and plains, hills, lakes, forests, rivers all come together to make it a rich land. It's breathtaking, to see the sun set over the hills. I wish you could see it. Every time I something new, I want to capture it, to bring it back to you._

_I met a silver miner today, Daniel Simon, who is willing to work with everyone as best he can. That's a pretty rare thing for a miner. The main Indian tribe here is the Cheyenne. I met Chief Black Kettle and some of the elders, and the Medicine Man, Cloud Dancing. They are a majestic people, honorable and respectful of the land and animals and other people. It's a nice little town, small and rustic, but nice. I can't say too much more, but I think negotiations look hopeful. I still plan on leaving in another week, so I should be home within three. I miss you._

_Give my best to your family._

_Sully_

Michaela read the letter twice before carefully folding it and placing it back inside its envelope. There was something strangely dissatisfying about it, perhaps just that it wasn't him in the flesh. Inwardly she railed against the circumstances of Sully's vocation which required him to travel. Fatigue descended upon her once again, heavy and warm. He was doing good, and she couldn't fault him for that. And he wouldn't always be gone. But the loneliness she felt now when he was away wasn't much different, perhaps worse, than when she had lived at home. At least there, she had her father.

Sighing in resignation, she turned down the lamp and ascended the staircase to bed.

* * *

To: Michaela Quinn, Acorn Street, Beacon Hill, Boston.

On my way home. Expect me in ten days. Sully.

From: Byron Sully, Denver, Colorado.

* * *

"Dr. Quinn! Dr. Quinn!"

Michaela shot up in bed, the frantic call startling her into action. Such an alarm before sunrise could only mean an emergency. She was already pulling a dress out when Jane, still in her robe, burst into the room.

"Dr. Quinn, I'm so sorry to wake you, but Harrison is downstairs. It's Dr. Quinn, your father. He's been taken to the hospital."

Michaela blanched, pulling her hair into a quick, elegant knot as Jane buttoned her dress. _Father. Oh God, please, no. Not now. _Sully wouldn't be home for another three days.

Within a few minutes, she was out the door with Harrison, medical bag in hand, as the carriage sped to the hospital.


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Michaela, perched on the edge of Josef's bed, sat leaning over him, his hand grasped affectionately in hers. Her eyes, shadowed with fatigue, lovingly, competently scanned his familiar features, looking for any signs of change. Recently, she'd run out of things to talk to him about, and now she sat, humming a little, intermittently offering words of love and encouragement.

She hadn't been home in three days, and little did she care. She'd hardly taken the time to change her dress when Jane brought her a new one yesterday. Such matters didn't seem important, when her father, her beloved mentor in life and medicine, was comatose.

There was a sedate knock before Elizabeth quietly entered the room. Michaela's drawn expression told her all she needed to know, and without a word, she settled herself in the bedside chair opposite Michaela, at Josef's left side. With more tenderness than Michaela remembered having seen in her mother, she lifted Josef's hand, cradling it between her own with a love and realism that brought tears to her daughter's eyes.

Leaning forward, Michaela kissed his forehead and rose from her post, suddenly feeling as if she were intruding upon a private moment. Were they so in love, after all this time?

As Michaela pulled the door closed, Elizabeth lifted Josef's hand to her lips, and pressed it against her cheek. He was a man among men, and she knew she must prepare herself to let him go.

Having made it past the nurses at the front desk with minimal struggle, Sully strode purposefully down the hall, eyes scanning for anyone he knew. Turning a corner, he saw Michaela emerging from a room and hastened his stride. Her hand paused on the doorknob, her senses still shaken by the implications of her mother's sudden, uncharacteristic tenderness. As if she _knew_.

Sully took in the straight, slender back and bowed head as she paused there, a slight droop to her shoulders the only evidence of her weariness. Her navy blue jacketed silk dress and upswept chignon spoke of competence and professionalism, in spite of her gender. In a glance, he knew she was keeping tight rein on her emotions in order not to simply endure this terrible ordeal, but to prevail over it for the sake of her father, their patients, her mother, and her sisters.

Turning away from the door, she nearly collided with Sully, surprise and relief intermingling with prolonged distress. The combination brought some life to her pale features, but the strain evident in her, though expected, still alarmed him.

"Sully!" she gasped. "I- I thought you weren't to return until the fifteenth?" she blurted, striving to recover from her initial shock at seeing him.

His eyes reflected only understanding as her touched her shoulder. "It is the fifteenth. I got home about twenty minutes ago – Cummings told me." He watched her somewhat preoccupied gaze rest on his full beard. "I came straight here," he explained. He nodded toward the door behind her. "How is he?"

"He…" she swallowed hard, feeling her composure begin to crumble at the edges now that he was here, always a source of comfort and security. She longed to let go of er control, but knew it wasn't possible. Glancing down the corridor, she warily noticed doctors and nurses huddled together in quiet conversation, within hearing distance. "Mother is with him now. Perhaps we can discuss this elsewhere…?"

Her father had been given an office on the next floor, and woodenly she turned into it, stopping before the window, back straight and chin tilted upward, determined not to break, not here, not now, not yet.

Watching her closely, compassionately, Sully closed the door behind him, and she turned to face him, every ounce a competent physician. The frightened daughter hovered just below the surface, he thought. He waited, hand resting on the back of the chair.

She looked at her hands, gathering strength, and resolutely back at him. "It… he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, three days ago."

He shook his head. "What does that mean?"

"It means… a blood vessel has burst in his brain, bleeding into it… It's a very severe condition. His—his prognosis is difficult to determine, until regains consciousness." Mentally, he waded through the medical terminology, gathering through instinct and his limited knowledge what she was trying to say.

"Then he might make it?"

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows, eyes downcast. "Yes, if he wakes up today. He's been in a coma since it happened." A somber note tempered her professional tone, and he recognized a subtle, barely discernable wavering of her eyes, evidence of her fear.

"Michaela," he whispered compassionately, just now beginning to comprehend the severity.

She continued with barely a pause, determined to face this now. "If he doesn't wake up today, he… he won't."

Silence, heavy, cold, and suffocating, descended upon them.

"…And if he does, he'll be ok?"

She looked down, a tear escaping despite the strong grip with which she clung to her professional demeanor, the armor which protected her from feeling the harshness of this reality.

Raising her eyes back to his, large and shimmering, she shook her head, tightly. "He'll likely experience paralysis, affected speech, confusion. The severity of handicap is difficult to determine now. It could be completely debilitating, but in time… there is hope for significant recovery."

He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Good, that's good."

She nodded subtly, not allowing herself the luxury of hope. Watching him, she saw he was torn between his concern for her, and for Josef. He had always been a father-figure to Sully, and had had such an important role in Sully's life. He must be beside himself with worry.

"Would you like to see him? There are those who believe comatose patients can hear us, and even, perhaps, that it helps them to wake up." She forced a smile, her laugh stilted. "I've been talking to him constantly over the last few days."

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder, wanting to show his support for her, even if she couldn't let down her defenses just now. He knew this must be killing her, but she was remarkably composed. "I'd like that."

Sully watched Michaela leave the room in search of the attending physician, then took Josef's thick hand in his own, faintly warm and pale in the cold light of the hospital, even in July. He drew in a slow breath.

"Josef? I don't know how to thank you for everything you've given me in my life. You always supported my friendship with Michaela. You saved me from the streets. You introduced me to a family in the Nordheims. You shared so many words of wisdom over the years. And you gave me your daughter's hand in marriage, trusted me to care for her. I've known some good men in my life, but I wouldn't be who I am today if it wasn't for you.

"You know this, but I promise you again I'll always honor the gifts you've given me, especially Michaela. I can't tell you how much she means to me, how special she is. But I guess you know." He smiled wryly. "I wish you could see how strong she is right now, how hard she's fighting for you. Maybe you can. You'd be so proud of her. I just want you to know I'll never take her for granted, never quell her spirit, never do anything to make her less than what she is. I hope we can always make each other better, me and her.

"You told me your time would come, but I didn't think it would be so soon. I—I don't know if you're in pain right now, or—or if you're making your way back to us. But you just rest easy. No matter what, we'll make sure everybody's taken care of. You just focus on getting yourself where you need to be, now. Just rest, now. Rest."

Sully pulled the door to Josef's room closed behind him, scanning the corridor for Michaela. Josef hadn't shown any sign of change over the last hour, but he hoped at least Michaela was right, and the gentle heart of the man had heard the words of gratitude and encouragement he'd whispered to him.

Down the hall, he saw Michaela whispering harshly with someone he could only guess was Josef's doctor. He headed toward them, placing a strengthening hand on Michaela's shoulder as the older man huffed and stormed away.

"What was that all about?"

She shook her head, clearly frustrated, her eyes already wandering back toward the door to Josef's room.

"Dr. Drummond, the physician attending Father's case. He's been reluctant to allow me to see his charts, to know the details of his progress."

"Because you're a woman?" His eyes searched hers, concerned.

She smiled wryly. "No, not this time. Because I'm family. Normally I would agree, but…" She trailed off as her eyes once more rested on his room. "How is he?"

Sully swallowed hard and shook his head. "Same."

She nodded mechanically. "I should go to him."

"Wait," he caught her arm. "It's getting late. Why don't you rest a little—"

"I can't, Sully. Not now. But you must be exhausted from your trip and a long day here. You go on home."

"You've got to take care of yourself, Michaela," he exhorted her.

She gazed at him steadily, defiantly. "I am Sully. I'll rest… soon. But now I need to be with him. You go on, rest."

He took a step back, somewhat wounded by her briskness and shaken by her foreboding tone, and watched her erect form move purposefully down the hall, all professional competence.

Sully skipped down the staircase, having left Jane upstairs to prepare a fresh change of clothes and toiletries for Michaela. He'd spent most of the night completing the reports he'd planned to do over the next week, but anticipating being needed elsewhere, he'd decided to get it out of the way. After that, he'd bathed and shaved off the thick beard he often grew on his trips to more rugged locations, and dressed before rousing Jane and Cummings to help him get things ready for a day at the hospital. It was barely dawn, but he wanted to get back as soon as possible, with fresh clothing and nourishing food for Michaela, who had looked a little too thin.

Returning to his study to retrieve his completed paperwork for Cummings to post to Washington, he stopped short. There stood Michaela, her back to him, staring blankly out the window into the predawn light. What could it mean except…

"Michaela?"

There was no movement, no answer. He stepped closer to her, touching her shoulder gently.

"Michaela?"

She spun around, startled. "Sully, I—" Her eyes shone with unshed tears, dark, puffy circles beneath them. Immediately, he knew. It was over. Josef was gone. She had implied it might happen, but he hadn't expected it so abruptly.

She was still stiff, fighting to maintain her fragile composure, but the vulnerability in her eyes was obvious, and made her seem brittle, as if she might shatter at any moment.

"Come here," he murmured, as he gathered her in his arms. She remained rigid for a moment, but finally relaxed, feeling the pressure of tears thicken overwhelmingly in her chest, forming a hard lump in her throat as she tried to choke them back, her eyes burning.

"When?" he choked.

"A few hours ago. I stayed afterward to wrap some things up, but I'll need to go back soon. I just came home to—"

"I know. That's okay." He rubbed her back, cradling her head against his shoulder. "Have you cried yet?" he whispered gently.

He felt the first, hot tears soak through his shirt in response. "No, I… I couldn't, yet. I—" she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh..." She couldn't hold back the tears any more, his embrace as always giving freedom to her tightly controlled emotions, and they flowed freely now, her body trembling violently in his arms with grief and exhaustion.

He didn't say anything but lifted her easily into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to her room as she cried silently. He almost collided with Jane coming out, but at his warning look she said nothing, though concerned, and let them silently into the room, Michaela never knowing there was any witness to her grief but Sully.

Laying her gently on the bed, he removed her shoes and tucked a thick, soft coverlet around her, before lying down next to her. She turned immediately into his arms, instinctively seeking the heat and strength of his chest as she curled herself into his embrace. Clenching his shirt in her hand like a small child, she mourned deeply the loss of her friend, her mentor, her father. He rested his chin on her head, her pain compounding his own grief, and felt his own tears soak the pillow, mourning with her.

Gradually, the warmth of him, the soothing beat of his heart, the security of his embrace, coaxed her into a numb, foggy sleep.


	29. Chapter 28

**A note before you indulge:** Many of you in your reviews have expressed your desire to see Sully bring Michaela up to speed in terms of the existence of their romantic feelings.

However, I feel it is necessary to clarify before you read this that those are _your_ estimations. In the story, I have only said that Sully has had fleeting thoughts of romantic feelings for Michaela, though he has stowed them away under lock and key, much like in the series. The feelings have been there, and he has felt them, but hasn't allowed himself the luxury of acknowledging them to himself, much less naming them. Instead, he has focused, with a pure and whole heart, on their friendship, on caring for her.

I just felt it was important to take a moment to clarify; I was worried otherwise you might be confused as you read this chapter.

And now, please enjoy:

**Chapter 28**

Sully lay awake for some time that morning, Michaela cradled protectively in his arms, unable to sleep despite the long waking hours of the previous night. He was tormented by their sudden loss, what it meant for each of them, for both of them. He felt as if Josef had somehow been their anchor just by the nature of his presence, a grounding force in their friendship, and now that it had been taken away, they could find that stability again only by clinging to one another.

Suddenly he was very aware of the slight form in his arms, how important she was to him, and how much he wanted to, needed to, protect and defend her. Her body felt small against him, warm and vulnerable and delicate. He noted first the sensation of the silken strands of her hair against his cheek, its fragrance light and fresh, then the smooth curve of her back under his palms, tapering down to the narrow curve of her waist, and the small points of her knees pressing against his thighs. She was warm, soft, relaxed. There was something infinitely sweet about holding her in a vulnerable moment like this, knowing the compelling, indomitable persona she presented in the medical world, and knowing at the same time that she would only trust this part of herself to few others.

Discreetly, he rubbed his newly shaven cheek against her hair, reveling in the soft feel and sweet scent of it. Closing his eyes, he drew in a slow breath, thinking how much he cared for this woman, then feeling the ache of loss flare in his heart again, the love and the ache somehow intensifying one another.

He knew it was growing into late morning, and they should get back to the hospital to take care of the remaining details and arrangements following Josef's passing. He rubbed her back slowly with increasing pressure, hoping to rouse her gently from sleep. She stirred, pressing her face more firmly against his breastbone, curling her shoulders into him.

"Michaela?" he whispered, brushing his hand lightly over her hair.

"Hm?" She felt as if she were a little girl again, buried in the depths of her warm, down duvet, reality and its responsibilities far out of mind.

"It's getting late," he murmured. "We ought to get back to the hospital." In that moment, reality came rushing back full force, and she felt suddenly overwhelmed and anxious under the weight of it. He brushed his hand over her shoulder, squeezing it lightly as she abruptly pulled away and sat up, once again unable to rest. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, and sat up himself.

When she turned to look at him, her eyes were filled with anxiety and grief. "What time is it?"

"Just half past nine… you didn't sleep too long…"

"I need to get back—"

"Hold on." He grasped her shoulder, preventing her from rising from the bed. "Why don't you take a few minutes and freshen up."

"…Sully."

"A few minutes won't make a difference. I'll make sure Cummings has the carriage ready, alright?"

She sighed. He was probably right.

Over the course of the day, Sully and Michaela faced every decision, every emotion, every obstacle, in tandem. They supported Elizabeth, encouraging her to rest. They skillfully managed a difficult Maureen, Claudette, and Marjorie, appeasing some preferences and denying others. Alongside Rebecca, they arranged the funeral service and wake. Michaela presented a practical, articulate, and deliberate gentleness in her interactions with family, doctors, and clergy, and Sully offered compassionate, firm support, simplicity, and reason. He was constantly at her shoulder, his presence giving her strength. Her eyes, solitary, veiled windows to her emotions, frequently met his in a gesture of thanks and compassion.

That evening, Sully encouraged Michaela to take a long, relaxing bath before both retired to bed.

Listless, she sat in the tub until the water grew cold, staring absently around the tiled washroom. Finally, her shivering shook her alert and she rose from the tub, toweling her hair and wrapping herself in a thick robe, oblivious at the moment to the July heat.

She sat for some time at her vanity, distractedly brushing her wet hair until it was almost dry, the emptiness in her mind keeping sorrow at bay. Finally, with nothing else to do, she slipped on a nightdress and crawled under the covers, hoping to slip quickly into the thick, numb sleep she'd experienced that morning.

Still, she felt restless. At first, she thought it was her father's cologne that filled her lungs, but quickly noted the absence of the smoky depth brought on by his tobacco pipe. No, this was a spicy, woodsy scent that evoked in her feelings of familiarity and security, calm, and momentarily, she placed it. Sully. He had rested with her this morning, and his scent still lingered on the pillows.

She smiled tiredly. Sully. Despite his own, evident grief, he had been a source of strength, support, and teamwork today that she hadn't thought she wouldn't know completely after Josef passed. He had been utterly selfless, putting his foot down with Claudette and his arm around Elizabeth at just the right moments. And helpful and commanding as he had been, not once had he disempowered her, but reiterated her decisions and authority without trying to overshadow her.

She thought of how he'd let her cry this morning, encouraged it. He'd known she needed that release, and he'd held her through it, never allowing her to think she faced this loss alone. He was so strong and warm, so solid when she felt as if the world were made of sand, sifting elusively through her fingers. But Sully would always remain, it occurred to her, even if the world were to fall through her fingers, he would remain.

Wide awake, despite her fatigue, she suddenly felt as if a broad chasm separated them, each wall and door exacerbating the emptiness she felt in her own room. Impulsively, she rose from her bed, wrapping her dressing gown around her and padding the short distance down the hall to Sully's room.

Michaela knocked lightly and waited, each passing second building her apprehension. She shouldn't be disturbing him at this hour; he was exhausted. Mentally scolding herself, she turned away from the door.

"Michaela?" She whirled around, embarrassed.

The door opened to reveal a slightly disheveled Sully, lamp in hand, his hair messed and his eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep.

"Sully. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I—"

He opened the door wider, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. Ignoring her apology, he caressed her shoulder. "You okay?" he whispered.

"I was just… I…" Her words failing her, she dropped her eyes, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed.

"Come here."

Gently, he guided her into his room, set the lamp on the bedside table, and shut the door, his hand never leaving her back. He encouraged her to sit on the bed, and sat next to her, pulling his arm around her shoulders.

His voice was hoarse with turmoil when he spoke. "I couldn't sleep. I just keep thinking, if I'd been home sooner, I could've seen him one more time, and maybe I would've told him how much he meant to me…"

Listening to him, Michaela's eyes filled with tears at his heartbreak. "Oh, Sully, none of us knew. We all wish we could have said more, could have said good-bye. There was just no warning…"

"I know. In my mind I know it's true, but it's hard to let that change how I feel."

Boldly, she squeezed his hand, offering support and reassurance. "I know… I've struggled with similar thoughts, wishing I'd been there, but… You can't blame yourself, Sully. There was nothing anyone could have done."

"Yeah..." He swallowed hard, as tormented as she was by the loss.

"…He— We'll never… Never…" Her breath hitched, tears filling large, tortured eyes once more.

Sully pulled her closer, the pain fresh, raw, deep. Her left hand came up around his neck, as she clung to him, and he rubbed her back in deep strokes, and they sat together thus for some time, further words unnecessary.

Eventually, she pulled back a little so she could see him. "…Sully, I need—I… I don't want… to be alone… I—"

He rubbed tears from her cheeks with his thumb, and shook his head. "Me neither. Do—do you want to stay here tonight?"

Biting her lip shyly, she nodded.

And thus, a new pattern was established. Each evening, Sully and Michaela would prepare for bed in their individual rooms, and then find each other, slipping into one or the other's bed, sometimes talking, sometimes just holding one another, and, in so doing, meeting a need for security and belonging they'd been unaware of prior to Josef's death.

Often one or the other would wake in the morning to find Michaela clutching his arm, or he spooned against her back. Shyly, they would separate, embarrassed at their actions even in sleep, and return to their separate rooms to dress. For each, the connection they felt to the other grew deeper, and though each had yet to give name to that emotion, Jane and Cummings had the distinct impression that their employers were falling in love.

In that way, weeks passed without further advent. Michaela continued to hold office hours and see patients out of the office she'd shared with Josef in the Quinn home, with frequent visits to the hospital to complete rounds, give operations, and see patients. Sully attended occasional meetings in New York and Philadelphia, but was able to complete most of his work through telegrams and research conducted within the Boston city limits. They often invited Jane and Cummings to join them for dinner, despite the gap society would open between them, and the maid and butler's growing loyalty to their employers was a direct result of the deepening friendships between the two couples.

One morning early in August, Sully stormed out of the post office, feeling the urge to punch something. Hard. Retracing his steps on a whim, he returned to the counter to send an urgent telegram, and was rewarded two hours later when Cummings brought a response to him at his desk. No, the orders could not be modified. Angry, he slammed his fist on the desk, and then took a measured breath, considering his options.

There was a considerate knock to the open door, but Michaela didn't hear it. She was absorbed with her patient file, and preoccupied by both the dwindling number of loyal patients since her father's death and thoughts of the warm embrace in which she wanted to seek refuge from her impending failure.

Her visitor studied her, brow creased in apparent concentration, slim body poised erect behind the massive desk, bottom lip caught between her teeth. He chuckled to himself. It was rare she did that anymore, Elizabeth having polished the habit away, and now it only happened when she was truly free of self-conscious thought. There was something sweet about it though, and innocent.

Shifting on his feet, he cleared his throat. "Michaela?"

Her head snapped up, surprised to see him here at this hour. Had something happened?

"Sully? Is everything all right?"

"I just wanted to talk to you." He ventured into the room. "Do you have a minute?"

She hesitated, looking back down at her chart, then resolutely put her pencil down. "Yes, of course." She gestured to the chair opposite her. "Please. Sit."

He drew in a slow breath, releasing it in a sigh. "I got a telegram from Lewiston this morning."

"Lewiston?"

He nodded. "My boss. They want me to go back to Colorado."

"Well, you seemed to enjoy it last time," she reasoned.

"In two weeks."

"Two weeks…"

"I tried to tell 'em I needed longer, that there'd been a death in the family, but they wouldn't hear it. I've got to go… Or lose my job."

"You can't do that, Sully, you love your work." She looked down, shaking her head. "I'd never ask you to do that."

"I know you wouldn't. But now isn't a good time to travel—"

"…How long?"

He sighed again, leaning back in the chair. "Could be a few months… I don't know…."

"A few months? Have your trips ever been so long before?"

"Occasionally, when they're having a lot of problems in a particular area… Michaela—"

"You should go."

The resolve in her tone surprised him. "You sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure."

He leaned forward in disbelief. "But we're both still mourning—"

"I know. I know we are." She reached across the desk and covered his hand with her own small one. "And you've helped me through it, Sully. I don't know what I would have done without you here."

He swallowed hard, inexplicably unable to look away from her eyes. "You've helped me too."

She glanced down humbly, her eyes returning to his filled with an assurance he hadn't seen in some time. "But Father would want you to go. He wouldn't want us moping around, he would want us to be happy, and fulfilled, doing what we love. For me, that means fighting to keep this practice alive. For you, it means traveling. You have to go."

Carefully running the blade over his jaw, Sully watched Michaela out of the corner of his eye. He had woken still holding her hand, and releasing it, he had expected her to wake, but instead she'd moaned a little and turned away, her breathing evening out again within moments. Now, she slept peacefully on her side, her hands folded under her cheek, hair splayed in loose curls behind her.

After the closeness they had shared this past month, he was reluctant to leave her, especially for a long trip. Yet she had been so stoic about it, so matter of fact, that he felt like a fool voicing his feelings. Clearly, she didn't share them. Or maybe he was hesitant because somewhere, deep down, he knew his reluctance was born out of forbidden territory, and putting voice to it might somehow make something real which was never supposed to exist, and which never could.

Finished shaving, he combed his fingers through his hair, wondering if he should cut it short again. It was practical in the field, being low maintenance, but certainly not stylish, or perhaps even respectable, here in Boston. Maybe he would cut it when he got home.

He glanced at Michaela again as he sifted through the stack of neatly folded clothing Jane had left him, making sure he had everything he needed. He would have to wake her soon.

A shaft of sunlight slanted through the curtains, casting its soft glow across Michaela's features, and rousing her from her sleep. She and Sully had talked long into the night, neither wanting to let go of the other, each secretly hoping morning would never come. Somehow, over the last several days, their mourning, though still present, had begun to transform into something else, something sweet and fulfilling between them. As she often did sleeping next to Sully, she felt perfectly warm and comfortable, though this morning, the heat to which she'd become accustomed on his side of the bed was absent, cool sheets in its place.

Gradually, her mind registered shuffling sounds at the foot of the bed, and she opened her eyes to see Sully straighten his jacket before turning to secure his traveling case. Sitting up in the bed, she stretched a little, feeling fatigue pull at her muscles.

"What time is it?"

He hadn't noticed her sit up, and now looking at her, eyes sleepy and soft, her hair tousled from sleep, he felt something swell in his chest. Quickly, he choked it down, turning his attention back to his case with effort.

"Seven thirty. I was about to wake you."

She put her fleet on the floor, rising to slip her feet into her slippers as she pulled on her robe, automatically pulling her hair out of the collar and letting it fall down her back.

Again, he turned his eyes away, feeling overly sentimental and determinedly blaming it on his impending departure.

"I can't believe I slept so late. You could have woken me sooner," she chided gently.

"I know, but you needed your sleep. We've still got time before we need to go." He placed his briefcase, packed last night, on top of his traveling case.

"I'll just get dressed and meet you downstairs for breakfast," she promised as she left the room.

_Don't go. Don't go_, she wanted to tell him. _I don't understand it, perhaps refuse to admit it to myself, but I need you._

Silently, Michaela stood at Sully's side, watching as people began to board the train as she forcefully tamped her thoughts down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sully turn toward her, and faced him, drawing a careful veil over her burgeoning emotions.

He grasped her arm, steadying her as people pushed past.

"You take care," he urged, the intensity of his eyes giving life to the cliché phrase.

"I will," she promised. "And you be careful," she exhorted, a maternal glint in her eye.

His mouth formed a wry half-smile. "I will," he promised sincerely.

"I'll send a letter tomorrow. It won't be too far behind you…"

He nodded. "Thanks. I'll wire when I get there, and write back as soon as I can."

She nodded, her lip caught between her teeth, biting back surprisingly involuntary words. _I love you. _He swallowed hard, surprised at the words he'd almost instinctively voiced, grateful he'd caught himself, and hugged her tightly, breathing her in, memorizing the feel and the shape of her.

Mindful of, and in that moment thankful for, the pushing crowd, she returned the hug stiffly, bringing her gloved hands loosely over his shoulder blades. She began to pull away, and sensing the movement he released her, their eyes meeting. Amber, jade, sapphire, mingled, fused, and severed in the space of a moment, leaving both with a sense of utter gain and loss that was at once tangible and elusive.

Pulling away, he released her, squeezing her fingers lightly before lifting his satchel an turning to climb aboard the train to St. Louis.

Lawdy mercy, this chapter just kept growin' and growin'! You'll have to pardon my drawl; I do believe the good ol' down home holiday feast on the horizon is affectin' my speech

I hope you enjoyed this weekend treat! I'll see y'all again Tuesday night or Wednesday morning… keep them eyes peeled!


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Sully's head lulled against the wall of the train compartment as he slept. Glowing, arousing images flitted behind his eyelids, sleep weighing down his limbs as his heart raced in response to his dreams. He felt warm, heavy, and exhilarated. Unconsciously, he shifted, his body settling further into the velvet seat.

Large, lustrous eyes gazed into his, flecks of jade and amber sparkling in the firelight. Love radiated there. They fluttered closed as he raised his thumb to stroke her jaw, thick lashes brushing flushed cheeks. His lips touched hers, feeling the sweet, tender whisper of her mouth against his. He pulled her closer, his skin tingling as her simple cotton nightgown brushed against his chest. His fingers sifted into her silky hair, auburn and russet gleaming in the firelight reflected off the wood-panels.

She pressed closer, sighing softly into his mouth. Soft, delicate fingers caressed his face, and he gasped when they brushed over his ear, combing into his hair. His breathing quickened at the intimacy of this kiss, in this bed. Their lips caressed more intimately, breaths mingling as he softly traced the curve of her back, her softness suffusing into his hardness. "Sully" she whispered on a gasp, burying her face in his neck. He wasn't breathing, but it only heightened the rush of sensation and emotion he felt.

"Michaela" he whispered, his head falling back as he inhaled shakily. The sound of his head hitting the wall jarred him out of his doze, and he jolted awake. Grateful that the elderly woman sharing his compartment was still asleep, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself.

He couldn't keep thinking about her like this. It had to stop. The Medicine Man, Cloud Dancing, whom he'd met again on this trip west, had read his heart like an open book. He'd claimed the Cheyenne Spirits told him she was Sully's heartsong, his soul mate. He'd sat listening to Cloud Dancing for hours, in a field of wildflowers and long grasses somewhere in the Colorado wilderness, as he spoke of his people and shared his wisdom. Sully had smiled indulgently when Cloud Dancing offered this insight about Michaela, a small part of him hoping it could be true.

But now, he was heading back east. He looked out the window. The wilderness had rapidly dwindled away as the train raced toward Boston, and with civilization, reality came rushing back in its place. He could never tell her. She couldn't know he loved her like this. The knowledge would crumble the foundations of their marriage, and she would never trust him again.

Michaela sighed as the carriage pulled up to the house. It had been a trying day at the hospital, battling Dr. Drummond once more over her competence as a physician. She was tired, and she missed Sully. He had been gone nearly three months this time. Now, with summer drawn to a close and autumn well underway, the holidays were on her mind, and she wanted him here to share them with her.

Shaking her head, she scolded herself. They had agreed from the beginning that their marriage would be a platonic partnership between close friends. She had never expected such feelings to arise within her, and now that they had, she must stifle them. It wouldn't do to confuse things now, so early on in their life together. She couldn't bear it if he were to feel uncomfortable around her because she was mooning over him. That discomfort would quickly grow into contempt, an outcome far worse than denying these emotions.

Ascending the steps to the front door, it swung open in front of her before she could knock, and Cummings greeted her warmly.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Quinn." Quietly closing the door behind her, he held out his hands for her neatly tailored wool coat, a warm smile on his lips. He was always such a comfort, a welcome, when she arrived home.

"Thank you Cummings, and good afternoon." She straightened her dress, tucking a stray curl back into the intricate arrangement at the back of her head. "Is there any mail?" She hoped for a letter from Sully, and at the same time told herself she shouldn't.

Turning from hanging her coat up, he nodded, a curious smile on his lips. "On the desk in the study." He nodded to her, turned on his heel, and left through the dining room.

Wondering at his odd behavior, Michaela turned toward the study, unable to quell the anticipation that rose in her chest at the prospect of a letter waiting for her.

Entering the dim room, she stopped short. A fire had been laid in the grate, and the back of a very familiar head rested against the richly upholstered wingback chair before the fire. Michaela couldn't prevent the happy smile from her lips, nor the butterflies which fluttered suddenly, insistently, in her stomach. Tiredness fell away as adrenaline flooded her system with giddy energy. Fighting to maintain her composure, she stepped forward.

"Sully." her voice, a half-whisper, sounded pleased, surprised, relieved. He rose quickly at her greeting, turning to face her. "You're home."

He smiled a boyish, goofy smile at her obvious statement, striding towards her and enveloping her tightly in his arms. "Yeah, finally."

This was his girl. The one whose bright eyes and enchanting smile had stayed with him throughout his trip, no matter the conditions. It felt so good to hold her, to feel her slender frame held securely against his, her smooth hair against his cheek, her fresh, sweet scent flooding his senses, her softness, her energy. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, seeing life and hope and affection burning brightly there, caged within a very composed exterior.

He resisted the impulse to touch her cheek, to draw out that vibrant life dancing within her eyes. Instead, he squeezed her hand as he released her. "I missed you. Three months…"

She nodded. "It felt like a lifetime. I've missed you, too…" She paused, and they smiled at each other for a second, lost momentarily in their secret affections for one another. Michaela shook her head suddenly. "Oh Sully, you must be exhausted; you should rest. If I'd known you were coming home I'd have had Jane make all of your favorites-"

He held up his hand, interrupting her. "No need. I wanted to surprise ya." Her eyebrows rose at his relaxed speech, and her mind flashed to what he might be like out west. It occurred to her that it must fit him perfectly: wild, simple, free. "I thought maybe we could let Jane and Cummings go for the night, eat something simple. Catch up. Letters can only say so much." He looked at her, trying to gage her thoughts. "Whaddya say?"

They settled themselves before the fire with a loaf of bread, cheese, and leftover apple pie. Sully poured them hot cups of tea. Michaela prodded him about his trip for hours, and slowly, he painted mental portraits for her of the land, towns, Indians, his interactions as a negotiator. How he had befriended the Cheyenne Medicine Man Cloud Dancing and Chief Black Kettle, and was welcomed amongst them, sleeping for days in their teepees, sharing meals and learning their ways.

Michaela listened with rapt attention, her eyes lighting up in excitement at his adventures and saddening at his frustrations. And she admired him. She admired his astute discernment of people's character, his intuitive knack for finding creative solutions to problems, his ability to identify commonalities between the Indians, government, and settlers in order to bring them together, to help them agree on potential solutions that best benefited everyone.

Her eyes took in his face – his blue eyes alight with excitement, the western world hidden therein, his strong brow, nose, and jaw set in contrast to his soft-looking lips. The bronze hue his skin had acquired in the western sun, the bleached streaks in his hair from the same. He had unbuttoned his shirt at the top, and shucked his jacket, shoes, and tie long ago. He looked so casual and easy sitting there cross-legged before the fire, and she wondered if he had always been meant for a world other than this, other than Boston or New York, away from societal expectations. It had never really occurred to her before, and the implications frightened her.

As he spoke, he studied her surreptitiously. The tension he had always sensed in her between freedom and restraint seemed so obvious now, as she sat erect and carefully arranged upon the oriental rug. She had let her hair down, the tight curls of earlier in the day relaxing in the warmth of the fire, tumbling loosely about her shoulders in free, luxurious waves. He wondered how much more herself she would be out west, far away from the expectations and conventions of Boston society.

Then, he prodded her about the last few months at the hospital, her struggles against the male contingent of her profession, also her medical victories, the people she had helped. He felt so proud of her, of her determination and intelligence, her compassion and love. How she persevered, despite the battles she fought to maintain her influence. And through it all she modeled integrity and earned respect.

His heart swelled with love for her. In the long months of his absence he had never stopped thinking of her, wondering if some long-ago planted seed of love for her had begun to sprout. Now, he was sure of it; it was flourishing.

The clock on the mantel chimed one, and they abandoned their place by the fire to ascend to bed. At the top of the stairs, she paused by her bedroom door, turning to him. Unease flickered in her eyes, and she folded her hands together awkwardly.

"Good night, Sully," she murmured gently.

However considerate the delivery, the message was unexpected, and frightening.

"'Night," he whispered hoarsely, watching her disappear into her room before retreating slowly to his own.

Inside, Michaela leaned against her closed door, her heart racing. Before he left, they had developed the habit of sharing a bed, holding hands or resting against one another, for the sheer comfort of the other's presence. But she couldn't now. During his absence, she had longed for his company, for the security of his embrace. Seeing him today, her heart had fluttered uncontrollably under his gaze, and for the entirety of their wonderful evening, she had felt compelled to be near him, to be held by him, to touch the line of his jaw, his hair, hold his hand. That compulsion frightened her, and she knew she shouldn't test her composure by sharing a room with him any longer.

Changing into a warm flannel nightdress, she crawled into bed, used to the emptiness of its folds but noticing it nevertheless. Curling onto her side, she felt ashamed for conjuring such feelings for him, ashamed for betraying their agreement, and powerless to change her own heart. Always one to trust her instincts, to pursue her passions, she was confused by this one that contradicted the very commitments at the foundation of the life she'd embarked upon with Sully.

Down the hall, Sully fell to his knees before the fire, his stomach in his throat. He went over their evening, remembering her evident excitement at his return, the simple joy of gathering their dinner together in the kitchen, their easy conversation by the fire. He had felt smitten, admiring her hair, the line of her neck, the shape of her mouth, the contours of her form, the vitality in her eyes, in ways he hadn't before, until he'd felt intoxicated by her presence. Had she noticed?

He shouldn't have allowed himself to pursue these feelings. Though he'd refrained from acting on them, he knew he had betrayed her trust simply by allowing these emotions to progress while he was away. They had grown so close in the aftermath of Josef's death, but that was no excuse. Berating himself, he tore off his shirt and trousers and fell into bed. Somehow, he'd have to make things right.


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Michaela sat at her desk, her mind preoccupied by thoughts of Sully. Breakfast that morning had been pleasant, somehow absent of the awkwardness she felt when she sat alone, reflecting on her tangled feelings. Sully had looked so handsome, his features more appealing to her than ever before, eliciting in her both a longing she didn't understand and shame she didn't dare vocalize. She felt confused by her feelings, and frustrated that, try as she might, she couldn't seem to overcome them. Absently rubbing the sore muscles in her neck caused by a long afternoon of paperwork, she wondered if she should tell him everything.

There was a light knock at the door before Sully entered, and she smiled warmly at him, despite herself.

"Hello, Sully," she said pleasantly, determined to ignore the ridiculous thoughts that plagued her mind.

"Hey. You coming home for supper?" Casually, he approached the desk, and moved behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. He'd seen her rubbing her neck, and knew she must be sore from leaning over her desk for so long. Silent, he began kneading the tense muscles in her shoulders.

"Yes, I…" she closed her eyes, tilting her head forward, the warmth and strength of his fingers had an unexpectedly drugging affect on her, swamping her with both pleasure and drowsiness. "I—I didn't realize it was so late…"

"Almost six o'clock," he continued, oblivious to her racing heart, her flushed cheeks. "Whatcha working on?"

She smiled crookedly at his relaxed speech once more. It seemed to be more and more common. She sighed. "I'm going over my files," she said slowly. "I'm losing it, Sully."

He let go over her, coming around the desk so he could see her face. "Losing what?"

"Everything. My patients, the practice. They… they don't trust me…"

He sat down slowly, leaning across the desk to cover her hand with his own. "Give it time. They'll come around."

She shook her head. "I see them on the street, coming to tea with mother, at the hospital. They have a thousand excuses. They wanted a second opinion. They want someone with more experience. They needed someone closer. It's too hard to come here with Father gone. What they're not saying is that they don't trust me because I'm a woman, not without a man to back me up." Her palms landed hard on her open ledger, her eyes burning with frustration. "Dr. Drummond and the others at the hospital are pushing me out, and with Father gone, none of them are willing to stand behind me any longer. It's as if..." she trailed off, overwhelmed by what she was facing. Looking up at him, her eyes transformed from tormented to determined. "I won't give up. There has to be a way to prevail. I just have to find it."

That's my girl, he thought. He smiled, squeezing her hand atop the desk. "You will. Just give it time. They'll see you aren't going anywhere, and you're healing people. They'll come around."

Smiling determinedly, she rose from her chair, flashing him an unknowingly saucy smile. "Shall we go home?"

Michaela thought she had never been happier than this very moment. A light snow fell outside, sifting over the world like confectioner's sugar. Her closest friends sat around her: Jane and Cummings glowing with the knowledge of the new life that grew in her belly, and Sully, home until further notice, warm, reassuring, sincere, playful, handsome. The stew and rolls they shared warmed her from the inside out, and combined with the glow of the lamps, made her feel impermeable to the troubles she'd faced earlier.

His languid gaze broke her reflections, and he smiled, setting her stomach aflutter. Her return smile was so warm, it sparked a wild flame of hope in his chest, and gave him the courage to speak.

"I was thinking I'd check in on the Nordheim's place, make sure everything's going okay for the tenants with winter coming—"

"Now?" The bottom had dropped out of her smile, leaving disbelief in its place.

He leaned back, wiping his mouth before dropping his napkin in his lap. A brief glance around the table assured him Jane and Cummings were absorbed in their own happy conversation. Only a hint of defensiveness tinged the careful patience of his tone. "It's been a while, and like I said, with winter coming in, I should stop by and make sure they're doing okay."

"But you've only just come home, Sully," she said, growing frustrated, though she knew it was irrational. "How can you just up and leave again?"

He huffed. "I'm not just up and leaving," he retorted. Gathering himself, he leaned forward, beseeching her with his eyes to hear what he was about to say. "I was hoping you'd come with me."

"You know I can't do that, not with the practice in such a precarious position right now."

"It's only for a couple days. Don't you think you could arrange your appointments around it? It might be good for you to get away. You've been working too hard lately."

Stubbornness flared in her veins. "It's impossible to know what such an absence could cost me, Sully. I could lose one, possibly two or even three more patients. I never know when someone might fall ill, when they might undergo a crisis or need an operation."

"So what," he whispered loudly, frustrated, "you just never leave? You're tied to this place like an animal?"

She softened her tone, aware of the Jane and Cummings sitting so close. "No. Of course not. It's just than things are tenuous right now. When the practice is settled again—"

"You can't live like that, Michaela," he interrupted. "That's no kind of life. You have freedom, Michaela, you've just got to take it."

She stared at him, knowing he was right, but afraid of the consequences.

"…but that involves so much risk," she argued weakly, feeling as if they were suddenly discussing much more than a few days away.

"I know. But sometimes," he said, "taking a risk brings the biggest reward."

Michaela stood looking out the frosty window, watching Sully trudge through the snow with Gus Litzer, the farmer who was tending the Nordheim's estate. He had been so gracious about her acquiescence. She'd found three days in her appointment book that were empty, visited her ill patients to be sure they were stable and had enough medicine to last them until her return, and both Cummings and Harrison had promised to send word in case of even the smallest emergency. Still, she felt uneasy.

Now, just two hours after they arrived in New York, she watched Sully's broad form disappear into the barn following the tall, gangly farmer, and let her gaze linger over the silvery woods and sparkling fields. She should really try to relax and enjoy the serenity of this brief escape with Sully.

A knock on the door caught her attention, and hearing Gus's stout wife, Else, bustling about in the kitchen, elected to answer the door herself.

Her mind still on Sully, she crossed the foyer, and pulled open the heavy door. There, on the stoop, stood Carrie, tall, golden hair windswept, blue-violet eyes shining, cheeks rosy from cold, looking gloriously beautiful. Jealousy surged through Michaela's veins and settled into a tight knot in her stomach.

Carrie shivered, feeling bulky and awkward compared to Michaela's delicate, ethereal features.

"Carrie. Please, come in," Michaela invited stiffly.

"Oh. Thank you," Carrie murmured.

Silently, Michaela took Carrie's thick cloak and scarf, turning back only to discover that she was heavy with child. Michaela suddenly felt rather empty in her conservative black mourning dress. Shaking it off, she forced a smile.

"You must be so cold; can I get you some tea?"

"Thank you, yes, that would be lovely."

Michaela settled them in the sitting room with hot tea and milk, and Else's warm shortbread.

"I'm sorry, Michaela, you must be wondering why I'm here so suddenly."

Michaela smiled a little, but remained silent, waiting for Carrie to continue.

"It's just… I suppose I heard Byron was back, and I…" she dropped her eyes to her lap, ashamed of herself. "I wanted to see him again." Carrie raised humble eyes to Michaela, finding her expression unreadable.

"He isn't here right now," she whispered, a deep sense of dread making her unable to explain further.

Carrie shook her head. "I'm sorry, I must sound terribly brazen," she said brokenly. "I suppose you must know," she continued softly, "that I loved Byron. I… maybe I still do, I don't know.

"I must have been twelve or thirteen when I met him at church. He wasn't like the other boys, always showing off. He was shy, respectful. He didn't brag and he didn't fall to the level of the other boys just to fit in. He didn't flirt shamelessly like they did. He was mysterious. And I suppose all of that made me want him." She smiled at her memories. "I remember feeling such exultation on the rare occasions I could get him to talk to me a little. I felt as if I brought out something in him that others couldn't.

"There was a time, when we were older, I thought perhaps he might want to court me. We kissed, once, and it was everything and nothing I expected. I suppose I'd built myself up so much to what it would be like that I was almost outside myself in that moment and I couldn't enjoy it at all…"

Without warning, the memory of Sully's warm, sure kiss flooded Michaela's body, overriding the confusion of feelings Carrie had elicited in her. It was the sureness of his kiss, of him, that suddenly filled her. Secure. Unwavering. Sure.

Smiling to herself, she realized she hadn't been listening, and focused her attention back on Carrie.

"…then when I didn't hear from him again, I knew I wouldn't. And I do love Roy, I do. He… he's real, and I suppose Byron was always more a figment of my imagination than a real person. But I suppose, with the baby coming, I wanted to see him once more, knowing he was here. So I can let go." She shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I don't know if that makes any sense, does it?"

Michaela smiled uneasily. "He's… he's outside right now. I'm not sure when—"

The stomping of boots in the foyer evidenced Sully and Gus' return to the indoors. And then he was there, in the doorway, his sudden presence causing both women to blush.

His perplexed gaze rested only a moment on Carrie and her swollen stomach, before moving to Michaela, her features, no, her eyes, glowing in a way he'd never seen before. Beautiful. Captivated, he lost himself in the sparkling depths of her mismatched eyes, feeling something immense bloom between them, unable to look away.


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Their connection felt long, momentous, though it only lasted a brief moment. Cheeks burning, Michaela suddenly felt self-conscious. Her eyes fell from Sully's, afraid he had seen her blush under his gaze. What was happening? Grasping weakly at her composure, she cut her eyes to Carrie, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Carrie stopped by to say hello, Sully. Would you like to join us for tea?" she blurted unsteadily.

Shifting his glance to Carrie, he smiled politely, unsure why she was really here. "Sure."

Abruptly, Carrie stood before Sully could move into the room. "Actually, I should be getting home. Roy will be worried if I'm gone too much longer." She slipped past Sully even as he made way for her in the doorway, gliding gracefully, despite the bulk of her abdomen, into the foyer to retrieve her cloak.

Michaela stood, following her out, her glance sliding to Sully. "Carrie, wait. At least allow Sully to drive you. It must be slippery out there."

Sully looked at Carrie in disbelief. "You came by yourself?"

She laughed, blue-violet eyes sparkling. "You know I'm quite capable of driving a carriage, By—Sully. I'll be fine." She opened the door, letting herself out.

He followed her to the door. "Are you sure?"

Pausing, Carrie turned, eyes soft with memories of puppy love. "She's a beautiful person, Byron," she whispered. "Cherish her."

He swallowed hard. "I will. I do," he rasped.

She smiled wistfully. "She's lucky," she whispered. Not allowing his a reply, she turned and stepped down the shoveled path toward her waiting carriage.

Closing the door behind him, Sully turned to find Michaela standing uncomfortably across the foyer, fingers knit together. He knew she hadn't heard Carrie's last words, but he was acutely conscious of them. Her cheeks were flushed with lingering embarrassment and her brow creased in concern, her black mourning dress accentuating the slender curves of her form. Stiff yet vulnerable, troubled yet beautiful. He would never tire of her complexities. When he looked at her, she dropped her eyes bashfully and took a composing breath before raising her gaze back to him.

"Do you think she'll be alright out there?" She tried to read his expression. What was he thinking about her? About them?

"I think so. They way back's easier than the way here." He watched her, not wanting to talk about Carrie. Was she thinking about him? About them? Or was she worried about Carrie again?

Her gaze fell on his pant legs, damp from tromping in the snow. "You must be cold. Why don't you go change and I'll get you some fresh coffee?" She scolded herself for changing the subject so abruptly, but couldn't keep herself from filling the awkward silence.

He smiled weakly, not sure if he was ready to talk about his feelings anyway. Not sure yet exactly what he wanted to say. "Sure," he relented. "Thanks."

She watched him walk up the stairs, remembered the glow and spark of his eyes, the hard line of his jaw and brow, his soft smile. His warmth, his scent. She ventured toward the kitchen, lost in thought. All strength, but so tender toward her. Always tender. More and more, she felt drawn to him, a longing to be close to him, to be held and to hold, that she didn't fully understand. She'd loved him since they were children, and she loved him still. What, exactly, had changed?

The next morning dawned bright and clear, the early sun sparkling upon the drifts of snow over the fences and grasses out her window, silvery gray in the far-off woods. Sully met Michaela in the dining room, where they joined Gus and Else for breakfast. Bacon, sausage, eggs, sweet rolls, jam, stewed apples, spiced coffee, cream. Michaela had rarely tasted such hearty food and relished it. Gus and Sully were deep in conversation about the running of the estate, and meanwhile Else politely asked Michaela about her career, pleased and fascinated by her evident compassion and competence.

Afterward, Sully caught Michaela's arm. She felt her stomach flip at his touch, and the awareness of it caused her cheeks to burn. He didn't seem to notice.

"Hey," he said softly, letting go of her arm. "The sun's out – I thought we could go for a little walk this morning. What do you think?"

The prospect of enjoying the crisp December air, exploring the property, appealed to her immensely. "That sounds wonderful."

"Good." He took her arm again. "Come on, you can't go in that," he said, nodding toward her stiff black silk.

He led her upstairs and down the hall to his old room, where the trunk stood open at the end of the bed, bright red wool underwear and heavy wool pants, sweaters, and coats strewn about the room.

"What's all this?" she asked, touching a heavy pair of brown pants lying on the bedspread.

He stuck his thumbs in his pockets, standing back. "All my old winter clothes. Josie kept everything. I figured something'd fit you." She looked a little lost in the midst of it all, but he knew she wouldn't want more interference than he'd already given her. He began to back out of the door, pulling it closed behind him. He turned with a twinkle in his eye. "Best get rid of that corset – it won't do you any good out in the woods."

"Sully!" she exclaimed, mortified that he would speak of such an intimate item.

He grinned, chuckling, and closed the door without comment.

Stripped down to her corset, chemise, stockings, and pantaloons, Michaela smoothed her hands over the hard whale bones framing her hips. Knowing that Sully was thinking about such an object had made her feel oddly vulnerable, giddy, and nervous. Deftly, she unlaced it, watching herself in the mirror. She had often wondered what men found so attractive about a woman's body, finding her own somewhat… awkward… in her own eyes. As a result, she had basically ignored her figure, uninterested in courting as Marjorie had been. Now, she found herself wondering if Sully found her appealing. Did he notice her like that?

No, she determined, turning to try on some long underwear. They had agreed this was a marriage of friendship, no more. It was unfair to Sully to be thinking such things. She stretched the red wool over her pantaloons and chemise, grateful for the protection they offered from the scratchy wool. Lately, though, things had felt different between them. Was it just her, or did he feel it, too?

She buttoned the placket up to her neck, grinning at the picture she made dressed in form-fitting bright red wool from head to foot. Idly, she wondered when Sully had worn these – he certainly wouldn't fit them now.

Quickly, she found a heavy flannel shirt, tucking it into brown wool pants, grateful for the belt she found hanging in the wardrobe that allowed her to cinch the waist in. Finally, a sweater. She had rarely worn sweaters, her mother finding them distasteful for a proper lady, despite their practicality. Here was a beautiful one, though. Pale blue with a cream yoke of snowflakes and stripes. Pulling it on, it fit fine, and she looked in the mirror once more, feeling both utterly ridiculous and completely carefree. She layered on an extra pair of socks and pulled her hair down, winding it into a quick braid in anticipation of a warm winter hat, and hurried downstairs, where Sully was sure to be waiting.

Sully paced the foyer, fingering the hat he had pulled out for her, his own already shoved down over his hair. He'd found an old beige wool sweater and heavy brown pants that still fit him, and a blue hat, the curls of his hair would keep his neck warm enough.

At the moment, he felt too warm. The idea of her wearing his old clothes was getting to him, flustering him, and he needed to calm down. But there was something special about it, something intimate, her legs stepping into the same long johns, the same pants he had worn, her fine ankles and feet slipping into his socks. His shirt buttoned around her… torso. It should matter that they were clothes from his boyhood and adolescence, that he didn't wear them now, but it didn't. His heart was thudding in his chest as he paced, waiting.

And then she was descending the stairs, looking just a little self-conscious and radiant with excitement. That sweater – Josie had knitted it for him in the nordic style – like the old world, as Johann had affectionately called it – and he'd hated it then. She looked like a little woodland snow elf in it, with her pale skin and flushed cheeks, bright woodsy eyes. Focus, he thought, focus. Smiling, he handed her the hat he'd been holding.

The snow drifts were deep, some of them, but mostly manageable. Still, Sully held Michaela's hand most of the way to the lake, helping her through knee-deep snow and the long tangled grass that lay beneath.

Finally, they emerged upon their little beach, now much more a winter wonderland than the leafy summer cove in which they'd splashed in their first summer together.

Stricken by it's silvery beauty, Michaela gasped softly. "Sully, it's beautiful."

"Yeah," he breathed, taking it in. "I guess you've never seen it this time of year."

She shook her head, looking up at him. "No, I haven't." Her eyes sparkled and he smiled, throwing down his rucksack.

"You ever been ice skatin'?" He crouched down and began pulling out skates, looking up at her to find her staring at him in surprise.

"Yes, every year at the Common. Father loved it," she said warmly. "You have?"

He chuckled. "Yep, every year here on the lake. Johann taught me, but we all used to come out here together."

She shook her head, amazed. "I never knew."

He winked. "You never asked." He stood, handing her the skates. "You need help bucklin' them over your shoes?"

"No, I'll be fine." He brushed off a log, and they sat down to put on their skates. Finished, he looked over at her, one knee pulled up to her chest as she buckled the straps, her gaze lingering out over the lake. So carefree, so absent of the self-possession characteristic of her. She's breathtaking, he thought. She's so beautiful.

Feeling his eyes on her, she finished her buckles, and glanced at him, smiling. His midnight-blue knit hat made his eyes look just as dark, and the effect was incredibly handsome, his burnished curls feathering around his neck and jaw.

Unaware of her thoughts and afraid she would read his own, he jumped up, offering his hand. "Ready?"

The sun sparkled cold and crisp over the silvery woods and crystalline snow of the landscape, warming them from the inside out. Soon they shed their coats, circling the ice in sweaters and hats. They skated for an hour or more, completing figure eights, spinning, racing, finally chasing one another.

Beginning to tire a little, Michaela had trouble slowing down as she tried to tag Sully's sleeve, and instead collided with him, instinctively gripping his coat for balance as she laughed, gasping for air. Himself laughing, thrown off kilter, and unable to correct his balance, he wrapped his arms around her hoping to cushion her fall.

They went down in a giggling, woolen heap. Sully landed atop her, his embrace having prevented her from hitting her head, and quickly rolled them onto his back while he caught his breath.

She lay above him, wisps of hair escaping her ivory hat in soft auburn curls, her eyes glittering with happiness. His hat had fallen off, and his hair was strewn around his head on the ice, his chest shaking with his labored breathing and with his laughter.

He could feel her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, still laughing a little, and realized his arms were still around her waist and back. Their eyes met and fused, and she bit her lip shyly. He wanted to kiss her. God, he wanted to kiss her.

"You alright?" he heard himself rasp, thanking his better judgment for saving him from his impulses.

"Yes," she breathed, feeling rather intoxicated by his proximity.

"Good," he whispered, loosing himself once more in her eyes.

Feeling rather lost herself, in those soft, eternally blue eyes, she suddenly realized she was laying on top of him. Scandalized, she grasped for a graceful way out.

"…You must be cold," she murmured. "We should…" she trailed off, and began to try to get up without hurting him.

"Yeah, um…" he grunted, helping her maneuver as he sat himself up.

He sat there for a moment, realizing his body was a little on fire and hoping she hadn't noticed. Looking up, he found her kneeling a few feet in front of him, gazing at him, a guilty expression on her face. When their eyes met, hers wavered nervously.

"Sully, I—" she began, and apparently changed her mind. "I want to thank you. This is the most fun I've had in… I don't know how long," she finished, laughter in her voice.

He smiled, rising to his feet before pulling her up. "Me too," he promised.

They skated back to the bank, both instinctively knowing their skating was over for the day. Unbuckling the straps, Michaela allowed her thoughts to wander. She'd wanted him to kiss her, would have welcomed it even. But why? Clearly, he didn't feel the same. What had come over her? Was it seeing Carrie yesterday? Had it stirred her sense of possessiveness over him? Or was there truly something building in her that he didn't share? Yet, there were times she felt sure he did.

Handing her skates to Sully, she put on her coat, watching him do the same. His eyes met hers, and she blushed, feeling foolish. He held out his hand to help her up, and they began to make their way back to the house.

For an hour at least, they had just been together, pure and easy, in the moment, free of the nagging thoughts that plagued each of them. It had been wonderful.

A/N: I know, I'm torturing you! Soon. I promise!


	33. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Once again in her stiff black dress, Michaela felt a bit more herself, despite the dreary color. A bit more in control of her emotions than she had been this morning, on the ice with Sully. Setting her jaw, determined to put the morning behind her, she entered the kitchen. Else and Gus wouldn't likely be back from town for an hour or so, and she wanted to do something for Sully's birthday.

Flour. Lard. Soda. Salt. A splash of milk. Simple. This should be simple. She stirred it a little and jumped back as the flour puffed out of the bowl toward her. Flustered, she brushed a wisp of hair back from her face, and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She sighed. Maybe she should just stir a little more, and it would come together. Josie had taught her this one summer morning, fifteen years ago, and it had seemed error-proof. She scoffed. She should have known better.

Absorbed in her task, she didn't hear his footsteps enter the kitchen, and his amused voice had her whirling around, wooden spoon in hand.

"I thought you were reading," he laughed. He glanced at the spoon, unconsciously held aloft like a weapon, and she set it down guiltily.

"I… was," she admitted slowly. "But… well… I thought I'd try my hand at some biscuits," she said hopefully, backing against the counter in a weak attempt to keep her body between Sully and the bowl.

He moved around to peer over her shoulder, smiling indulgently. "What for?" There was flour on her cheek, her forehead, in her hair, on her shoulder, down the front of her dress.

"I… for your birthday. It's the first one we'll spend together, and I… I remembered how much you enjoyed Josie's biscuits…" she trailed off, feeling foolish now for trying to replicate anything Josie had done, and flustered by his attention, his nearness.

But Sully just smiled, drawing nearer. "Reminds me of another time I found you in the kitchen, covered in flour," he said slowly, his voice low.

She rolled her eyes, blushing self-consciously, her control of a few minutes ago slipping when she recognized the warmth and intensity of his gaze. At a loss for words, she bit her lip as he approached, feeling her heart rise to her throat.

Eyes raking her features, he raised his thumb to brush the flour from her forehead. She pressed her eyes closed, exhaling a silent breath, overcome with feeling. She forced her eyes open only to meet his, limpid blue filled with wondrous affection. Slowly, his fingertips brushed flour from her cheekbone, his breathing growing shallow as he became lost in her, in his feelings for her.

Her lips parted, soft and trembling as the pad of his thumb brushed more flour from the line of her jaw, boldly lingering to softly stroke the smooth skin. He moved closer still, leaning one hand on the counter next to her as he leaned toward her, her eyes vulnerable and timid, yet shining with love, pure and true. His forefinger curved beneath her chin, and he dipped his head as she dropped her eyes shyly, his gentle touch preventing her from lowering her head.

Her breath caught when his lips met hers, warm, tender, trembling with restraint. The sensation filled her with longing, and she gripped the counter weakly, trying to hold on, and when he pulled a breath away to gauge her reaction, she remained still, overwhelmed. Himself overcome, he met her lips again, his tremulous lips now sure, certain, and he pressed a little closer this time, his arm coming around her waist to hold her tenderly. Moved beyond measure, she felt herself begin to surrender to his embrace even as the kitchen door flung open on a gust of wintery cold air.

Embarrassed and completely unnerved, Michaela instinctively turned her back to the door, pressing her fingers against her lips, eyes closed in horror at being caught. Sully reached across her and grasped her arm, both to reassure and still her, and slowly she turned back toward the door, gathering her nerves.

"Well, such a mess!" Else exclaimed as she blew full force into the kitchen. "But it is no wonder – you are newlyweds, too absorbed with each other to pay attention to the cooking! Now off with you, let me clean this mess up and prepare our supper!"

Mortified, Michaela protested. "Oh, please, let me. I was just…"

But Else just shook her head, clicking her tongue. "It's all right, child. You two run off now, I'll see what I can do with these… biscuits? You were trying biscuits?"

Michaela nodded meekly, feeling Sully's hand cover her shoulder, gently urging her out of the room. Her pulse raced in anticipation of his touch, of the conversation that must come now, of the unknown.

They moved into the foyer, pausing at the base of the stairs, where they stood awkwardly. Cheeks burning, Michaela stared contritely at the floor as Sully tried to read her expression, her behavior suddenly filling him with doubt. He had acted on instinct and it had felt so right, but still, he should have talked to her, told her of his feelings weeks ago. What was she feeling? Would she resent him? Would she ever trust him again?

"…I should really get back to my medical journal… I'll…" She met his eyes hesitantly. "I'll see you at dinner…" She turned, heading up the stairs.

Sully stepped forward, reaching out to her, afraid he had lost her completely. "Michaela…"

"Ah, Sully!" Gus called from the kitchen door, his lanky form entering the foyer. "Else said you might have come this way… I have good news!" He stopped short, noticing Michaela halfway up the stairs. "Oh, Mrs. Sully. Hello." He nodded politely, then looked back and forth between the two. "I'm not interrupting?"

Sully didn't speak, but looked at Michaela.

"No, you're not, Gus. I was just going to do some reading before dinner." She looked blankly at Sully for a moment, turned, and went to her room.

Michaela walked numbly through dinner, coffee in the sitting room, and breakfast the next morning. When spoken to, she replied as pleasantly though woodenly; she couldn't help but be affected by the day's events. Being close to Sully was everything she wanted, more wonderful than she could have ever imagined, but his lack of communication on the subject left her feeling uneasy, unsure of his feelings. He seemed hesitant to speak with her, perhaps even avoiding it, and that shook her even more. She should have stayed away from him, perhaps told him how she was feeling, tried harder to prevent something like this.

They settled awkwardly into their seats on the crowded morning train back to Boston, both grateful for and resentful toward the lack of privacy. Both tortured by longing and fear, love and concern, afraid to hurt and be hurt. They completed the journey in silence, and as they pulled into the station, Sully rose to pull down her medical bag, handing it to her before retrieving their remaining luggage.

As they disembarked the train, Rebecca's frantic face immediately caught Michaela's attention amidst the crowds.

"Michaela! Michaela! Oh, thank God you're here!"

"Rebecca?" Michaela rushed to her, taking her sister's hands in her own. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Marjorie. She's gone into labor, but something's terribly wrong. Dr. Kendrick has gone to Georgia on holiday and she doesn't want anyone else but you in his absence. You must come, quickly!"

Michaela glanced at Sully, who nodded encouragingly. "I'll get our stuff home—"

"No," she interrupted with a shake of her head. "I might need your help."

Sully licked his parched lips, watching Michaela in awe, ready to jump at her slightest instruction. He sat next to Marjorie on the bed, supporting her shoulders as she cried in pain. He had seen Michaela attend to patients when they were children, seen her in the hospital with Josef, but nothing compared to this. Sleeves rolled up to bare slender forearms, she wore a neat apron over her dress, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her cheeks and lips were flushed with effort, and she spoke low instructions to Rebecca and comforting words of reassurance to Marjorie as she worked. Her eyes, alternately sharply focused on her work, and softly compassionate toward her sister, fascinated him. He had known she was an amazing doctor, but seeing her work impressed and moved him beyond measure. She was so discerning, so sensitive, so precise and clearly in control, completely competent, he wondered how anyone could doubt her. She was magnificent to behold.

Marjorie labored late into the following morning, and finally, a baby boy was born. Laying the weakly crying little boy onto his sobbing mother's chest, Michaela cut the cord and wiped him clean, wrapping him in a soft blanket. Momentarily, she had made Marjorie more comfortable, and excused Sully and Rebecca to wait elsewhere.

Carefully, Michaela bathed the tiny infant, silence permeating the room now that Marjorie's body had completed its task. Gently, she examined the precious bundle, her expression only subtly betraying her concern. She diapered him, and carried him to Marjorie, seating herself next to her on the bed.

"Here he is," she soothed. Marjorie smiled weakly, but her eyes shone with pleasure. Finally, she'd given Everett a son, after so many childless years.

"He's healthy, though perhaps a little small, and I'm afraid the prolonged labor has weakened him. I'd like to monitor him for a while, and you should keep him here," she tucked the infant inside Marjorie's gown, skin to skin, "like this."

"Michaela!" Marjorie exclaimed, scandalized.

"It will keep him warm," she asserted, "and the sound of your heartbeat will strengthen him. Here, why don't you see if he'll nurse?" she asked, her voice deliberately soft, gentle.

"But we're hiring a wet nurse—"

"He needs to eat now," she insisted, cutting her off, "for his strength. You'll need to feed him until the wet nurse comes."

Michaela helped a reluctant Marjorie with the task, and soon, the two were sleeping peacefully. Michaela took a slow breath, releasing the tension of the past several hours, and trying not to be disappointed in her sister's emotional detachment from her baby. She couldn't imagine… it didn't matter what she could imagine. Squaring her shoulders, she ventured out of the room to look for the new father.

Descending the stairs, she found Sully and Rebecca in the sitting room, the latter of whom was dozing exhaustedly in a wingback chair. Sully rose when he saw her, his concerned expression inquiring after the status of mother and child.

She nodded in understanding. "Marjorie and… the baby… are fine. He's weak from the prolonged labor, but he should be fine with proper attention. Is… have you seen Everett?"

Sully nodded. "I guess he came in late last night. He left for the office a little while after I came down – asked about the baby and said he had an important meeting and he'd be back later…" He trailed off as she shook her head, sinking into a chair, shoulders bent in disappoint.

"You may as well head home, now, and get some rest. I need to stay and monitor the baby, and I'll need to speak with Everett as well when he returns."

"What about you? You've been up all night, working hard," he said proudly, touching her shoulder, but his smile faded when she didn't respond, and he backed away. "You need your rest, Michaela."

She looked at him, so many questions in her eyes, questions unrelated to Marjorie and the baby. His heart ached to connect with her, to talk with her, but he knew now wasn't the time.

"I'll rest as soon as I can, Sully. But for now, I must attend to Marjorie and the baby."

It was nine o'clock before Michaela made it back to the little house on Acorn Street, and it was dark and quiet save for a few lamps Cummings left lit for her. Grateful for the solitude, she hung her coat and left her bag by the door, where she could easily grab it in case Marjorie needed her during the night. Quietly, she walked up the stairs, noticing a faint glow of light below Sully's door. He must have fallen asleep with his poetry, she thought.

She undressed quickly, slipping into a thick flannel gown, and pulled the pins from her hair, deciding tiredly to forego a thorough brushing and instead running her fingers through it before climbing into bed. Gratefully, she acknowledged the warm fire in the grate and the lump at the foot of the bed that evidenced the presence of a hot water bottle, and reminded herself to thank Jane in the morning for her thoughtfulness.

She was one knee into bed when she hear a faint knock on her door, causing her stomach to flutter wildly at the probability that it was Sully, remembering instantly the lamplight coming from under his door.

"Michaela?" came his whisper.

She bit her lip, suddenly nervous. He just wants to know about Marjorie, the baby, that's all, she reminded herself.

"Just a minute," she called softly, glancing about for her robe.

In the hallway, Sully shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She had to be exhausted. He should let her rest. It isn't good to talk about important things when you're tired. But he couldn't keep himself away for thinking about her. Seeing her work with Marjorie had only deepened his love for her. Well, he would just see if she needed anything. Make sure she was okay.

The robe was nowhere in sight. She glanced down, and satisfied with the modesty afforded by the thickness and generous folds of her nightgown, decided to answer the door sans robe.

She pulled the door open slowly to find Sully looking decidedly uncomfortable in pajamas, robe, and slippers, and found herself wondering again if he was really made for this world and all its formalities, including proper sleeping attire. What did he wear to sleep out west? Surely he didn't bring his robe and slippers…

"Hey," he leaned his weight on the doorframe. "I…I just wanted to make sure you're okay – see if you need anything…" Concerned eyes raked her features.

She felt flustered under his gaze. "Oh, no thank you, I'm fine, Sully."

"Marjorie and the baby?"

She swallowed. "They're fine," she murmured. "The baby is much stronger now. I want to check on them in the morning, but I don't expect any problems." She mustered a tired smile.

"Good," he smiled a little, casually folding his arms over his chest. "…They give him a name?"

She hesitated, her eyes clouding over. "Yes, um…" She swallowed hard. "They… they're calling him Josef," she choked.

Slowly, Sully straightened, his expression sympathetic. "After—"

She nodded, biting her lip, and tried to smile, her eyes glistening with tears. "It's fitting, really, with him born the same year we lost Father, but… I suppose I just… I miss him."

He nodded in understanding. "I know you do. Come here," he whispered, drawing her into his embrace. "I know."

One arm around her back, the other hand stroking her hair, he let her cry out her grief, her exhaustion. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around him as she pressed her face into his shoulder. He laid his cheek on her hair and pressed his eyes closed, so moved by the strength and vulnerability of this woman in his arms. Gradually, she calmed, and he felt her relax, turning her head toward him to lay her cheek on his shoulder.

They stood for some time, holding one another, his hands rubbing comforting circles on her back. After a while, his soothing turned to a soft caress, and Michaela felt her mind and body begin to hum with emotion, heady and warm. Afraid, she began to pull away, his day's stubble brushing her temple as she did so. Looking up at him, she saw something smoldering in his eyes, and felt a rush of warmth come over her. She stiffened at the sensation, unsure what to think or to do, and when he saw the tension in her eyes, he reacted without thinking.

"Michaela, the other day when I kissed you…" His voice trailed off as she blushed and panic filled him, but seeing her nod he willed himself to go on. "…I meant it," he finished, his voice low.

"Sully," she whispered softly, stunned and relieved.

"I never meant… I should've told you first…"

"Told me?" she encouraged.

He nodded, swallowing hard. "You know I've always loved you, ever since we were kids. But somewhere along the way I… I fell in love with you," he breathed, tender eyes trained on her for her reaction.

"Oh," she whispered, her eyes wide and lustrous with tears, "Sully."

"I don't ever want to lose your friendship. I just… I want to be closer to you, to be more than best friends. I want us to share everything. But if you don't—"

"I do," she whispered, wiping her eyes. "Oh, how I love you."

This is just the first installment of your Christmas present :) You had to know I was looking out for you!


	34. Chapter 33

__

Chapter 33

___

* * *

_

"I don't ever want to lose your friendship. I just… I want to be closer to you, to be more than best friends. I want us to share everything. But if you don't—"

_"I do," she whispered, wiping her eyes. "Oh, how I love you."_

_

* * *

_

He was stunned silent, lost in the glistening eyes before him, wide and dark in the golden lamplight. Moved by this newly shared knowledge of love, a smile grew slowly on his lips, his eyes welling with tears. Her features were at once new and familiar to him, the delicate arches of her eyebrows, heavy fringe of her lashes, pink bush of her cheeks, the sweet curve of her lips.

She didn't dare divert her gaze from his face, from the lines and features that were more precious than she'd ever realized, for fear it would all be a dream. All these years, all this time, how was it that now, only now, they were discovering these feelings, this depth of emotional connection between them? How had she never known such sweetness existed in this world?

Lightly, he traced the outline of her face with his middle finger, from the powdery soft skin of her brow, over her temple, through the fine, curling wisps of hair by her ear, along the soft skin of her jaw, to the delicate tip of her chin.

Her eyes fluttered closed under his featherlight touch, her ponderings dissolving as the sensation of his fingers against her skin flushed her body with thick, sweet anticipation. She felt warm and lethargic, awash in the newness of love and the heavy fatigue of the past two days.

It felt good to close her eyes, to yield to his touch, so innocent and so full of wonder and emotion. Her breathing grew uneven and shallow, even as her eyes refused to open again, and she swayed a little against him, steadying herself with her hand against his chest.

His lips brushed her through her fragrant hair as she fell against him, and he steadied her gently, firmly. With effort, he clamped down his emotions, her evident need for sleep overshadowing his desire to talk more, to explore their new feelings.

"Come on," he whispered. "You need your rest."

Heavy lids rose with difficulty over tired eyes. "No," she protested weakly, feeling the heady weight in her limbs even as she tried to prevent their evening from ending. "I'm sorry, I…" she apologized as he guided her to sit on the bed. "We should talk more…" she tried one last time. He swung her legs into the bed.

"We can talk more in the morning," he soothed, tucking her in.

She sighed, sinking into the soft bed. "…I have to check on Marjorie and the baby in the morning…" she mumbled sleepily.

"That's okay," he encouraged, softly brushing the hair away from her face, pressing a lingering kiss to the soft skin of her forehead. He turned down the lamps, the only remaining light in the room coming from the fire in the grate.

He was halfway out the door when her whispered "Sully?" stopped him. From the warmth of her covers, she blinked hard, trying to keep her eyes open. "Stay here tonight…"

"Michaela," he warned softly, so much still unsaid, undecided, between them.

"Please? Just…" she struggled for words, "…hold me…" she sighed, exhausted, before sinking impossibly further into her pillows, drifting off to sleep despite her efforts to stay awake.

It was all he wanted. Untying his robe, he let it pool on the floor, and stepped out of his slippers. Sliding under the covers, he gathered a sleeping Michaela into his arms, cradling her sleeping form against him. Immediately, he felt her body sink into his, her soft, slight weight both thrillingly intimate and comfortingly close.

Having benefited from a lengthy nap that afternoon, his awareness of her outweighed any tiredness that still nagged at him from his lack of sleep the previous night. He hadn't held her like this before, so close, and her warmth, her softness, free of corsets and stays, the curve of her hip, the soft pressure of her thighs against his as she settled into him, all held new, exciting, overwhelming meaning. Laying his cheek against her hair, he inhaled a slow breath, that fresh, sweet scent filling him, and he stroked her silken hair gently down the length of her back, feeling her muscles relax further even in sleep.

This was the same woman who had been such a pillar of strength and confidence, the woman whom everyone in the room had depended upon during Marjorie's difficult delivery. This small hand, with its delicate fingers, so skilled, efficient, gentle, now lay relaxed on his breastbone. His heart fluttered. What would her intimate touch feel like? Images from his recent dreams filled his mind. Slender bend of knee and curve of thigh; the warm caress of hands over heated skin; rich tumble of hair, gleaming in the firelight; lips, open and soft, brushing over neck and shoulder; rhythmic intertwining of bodies, meeting of mouths, endlessly giving and receiving. His stomach clenched, his body reeling with anxious anticipation, and suddenly he felt restless.

Breathing deeply, he looked down at her face, peaceful in sleep. That beautiful face, one might not expect such strength and determination, intelligence and passion, competence and empathy from such lovely features. For so many years he'd loved her devotedly as a friend, and now it was mushrooming into much more. He felt a great responsibility to honor and please her as their relationship progressed over the coming days, weeks, and months. His thoughts raced with ideas, desires, determinations, and he could hardly wait for morning to come. Some time much later, he finally drifted into swirling, dream-filled sleep.

* * *

Michaela became aware first of the strong, tender embrace in which she was held, the smooth warmth of her sheets, the spicy, earthy scent of his pajamas, the heated breadth of his hand on her side, the other covering her own on his chest, where his heart beat steadily in sleep. Heart fluttering, she blinked her eyes open, the blue stripes of his pajamas blurring against the burgundy and pink roses of her bedspread in the soft morning sunlight.

Suddenly, she realized how late it must be – she had intended to wake, as usual, at dawn. She needed to check on the baby. Adrenaline burst through her veins and she sat up abruptly, startling Sully awake.

"Michaela?" he husked, his voice full of sleep. He reached up, his fingertips falling down her back as she rose from the bed.

"I have to get to Marjorie's to check on the baby – I'm late," she spoke quickly without looking at him as she moved across the room, pulling a dress from the wardrobe and moving behind her screen to dress. He sat up slowly, leaning against the headboard as he watched her bustle about, lingering emotions from the previous night swirling in his heart and mind.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she apologized from behind the screen, casting her nightdress over the top edge.

"That's alright," he assured from his place in the bed, running his fingers through his hair. "You want me to come with you?"

She emerged from behind the screen wearing a dressing gown over her underclothes, blushingly aware of her state of undress. "Thank you, but no, that isn't necessary."

She sat down before her vanity, brushing out and then pinning up her hair. Glancing up, she caught his warm gaze in the mirror. His attention had been focused on her hands as she arranged her hair, but when she looked up, his eyes met hers. And suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be with him today, to be near him, to talk with him and to hold one another. Their revelations of the night before flushed her with warmth, and securing the last pin, she turned slowly to face him in her chair. He smiled a little, recognizing the shift in her thoughts. She rose from her chair, and came to sit on the far edge of the bed, across from him.

Blushing, she looked down at her clasped hands, and then lifted her gaze to him.

"I—I know we need to talk more about… um…" she stammered, embarrassed.

"Us?"

Blushing, she nodded, biting her lip. "It's just that… it's imperative that I check on the baby this morning, he was so weak after the delivery, and I'm not sure Marjorie knows how to care for him properly—"

"It's alright," he interrupted gently. "You already said that." He reached across the bed, squeezing her fingers.

She smiled, dropping her eyes from his, longing to stay with him, thinking this was the first day in her life that she didn't want to practice medicine. "Yes, of course you're right," she whispered, feeling sheepish.

Sully pushed the covers off his legs and easily lifted himself across the mattress to sit next to her. She felt her blush deepen under his gaze, once more acutely aware of her state of undress. Slowly, he leaned in, his eyes holding hers steadily, and kissed her cheek.

"I love you," he whispered, watching her blush once more under his gaze.

She held his gaze for a long moment, eyes shining with bashful wonder, then wavered shyly, and when she again lifted her eyes to his, he was still watching her, a boyish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She smiled a little, her mind frozen with disbelief that this beautiful, breathtaking thing was really happening to her. "I love you, too," she whispered, tilting her chin up with a crooked, shy smile. The effect was innocently seductive, and took his breath away.

He kissed her then, his lips full and soft on hers. Slowly, he raised his palm to cradle her face, his thumb brushing the corner of her lips as he pressed his forehead against hers. There was so much tenderness and longing in his kiss, and Michaela felt that same unnamed longing rise in her chest. His hand dropped to her shoulder, holding her near despite the distance between their bodies, the warmth of him stirring her senses. He pulled away a fraction of an inch, softly nuzzling her nose, but kissed her again. She gasped silently, reveling in the feeling of his lips against hers, his breath warming her cheek.

His lips brushed hers once more and her breath caught as he pulled away, his eyes burning with intensity and… and love. He was studying her again, so much written in his eyes, and she bit her lip, remembering there wasn't time now, for this. Still looking into her eyes, he raised his hand from her shoulder to softly stroke the line of her jaw.

"I, um…" she whispered, "I—I should get going now…" She swallowed, feeling a fresh wave of warmth flush through her with every stroke of his thumb. "…Marjorie…"

Sully couldn't look away from her eyes, so vulnerable and searching and soft with passion. Abruptly though, he backed away from her.

"I'll have Jane wrap you up some breakfast," he promised, and left her room to dress and seek out Jane, leaving Michaela breathless on the bed.

* * *

It was snowing heavily when Michaela returned home that evening, and she felt cold despite the warm little house. She was relieved to be home, though, having battled Everett for most of the day regarding Marjorie's and little Josef's health and well-being. She was almost grateful that Dr. Kendrick had arrived, pushing her out of the way, though she couldn't fully dampen her concern for the little boy.

She hung up her coat, exchanging it for a warm knit shawl. Sully was nowhere to be seen, so she ventured into the kitchen for a cup of tea. With two hours until dinner, Jane was resting for a bit before finishing meal preparations, and the kitchen stood empty apart from a large stockpot of stew simmering away on a low flame.

Measuring the herbs into her cup, she moved to the window, watching the snow fall in a thick, peaceful blanket over the bluely twilit garden. What would tonight bring? As much as she loved him, she wasn't ready for complete intimacy with Sully. She wanted time to get used to this, time to become more accustomed to touching and kissing before… before. But what would he want? What did he expect from her now? Her heart raced at the thought, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. If only there was someone with whom she could confide about such things.

Shedding his coat, Sully noticed Michaela's medical bag by the door. A quick survey of the empty downstairs led him to the kitchen where he expected to find Jane, and he almost didn't notice her still, silent form facing the window. Soft blue light from the falling snow surrounded her, but her closely tailored white blouse glowed with the warmth of the kitchen lamps, accentuating the slender line of her back, her narrow waist, her elegant posture, and her hair shone dark and coppery in the fading light.

She didn't appear to hear his approach, and jumped a little when his hands closed gently over her upper arms as he leaned over her shoulder to lightly kiss her temple. Her breath caught involuntarily at his nearness, and she straightened her skirts nervously.

"Didn't expect you home so early," he commented, pulling himself up to sit on the counter next to her.

She smiled stiffly. "Dr. Kendrick returned today, and kindly condescended to thank me for my assistance in his absence," she said sarcastically.

Sully smirked. "Sounds like…" he slid off the counter, turning his body toward her as she continued to look ruefully out the window. "…he's intimidated by you," he finished, brushing her cheek affectionately with the back of his fingers.

She tried to ignore his touch, the effect it had on her. "Intimidated?" She scoffed. "His disdain was more than evident."

Sully sidled closer, slipping a hand about her waist, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he stood behind her.

"You're beautiful, Michaela," he murmured against her ear. "Smart. Compassionate. Professional. Capable. He knows he can't hold a candle to you – no one could."

"I think," she began, easing out of his embrace and removing the boiling tea kettle from the stove. "…you may be a little biased, Mr. Sully." She glanced up at him as she poured water into two cups, feeling oddly bold, a flirtatious smile upon her lips.

"I think…" he countered, captivated by her eyes, "…I'd like to court you." He accepted the cup from her, leaning casually against the island as she stood on the other side.

Her brow creased in confusion and surprise. "Court?" She shook her head, uncertain laughter in her tone. "We're already married, Sully…"

He rounded the counter, taking her hand. "I just thought… it would help us to take things slow."

Michaela stared at him, confused. "Things? What things?"

He nodded, otherwise sidestepping her question. "…I could take you out to dinner, maybe the opera, bring ya flowers and things…" he hesitated a moment, watching her digest his proposal, and took her other hand, warming them both in his own. "I don't want to miss anything with you, just 'cause we're already married."

Michaela dipped her head in an attempt to hide a small, crooked smile as his speech relaxed. It was charming. She looked back up at him, her mind reeling.

"People who are courting require chaperones, Sully. And we live together, what about…?"

"We're married, Michaela, I know that. I'm not asking for a traditional courtship. But I am telling ya I don't want to rush this." He slipped one hand around her waist, the other cupping her face. "I don't want to skip," he kissed her forehead softly, "any," his lips caressed the powdery softness of her cheek, "steps," he brushed her lips fleetingly before he pulled away, still holding her loosely in his embrace.

Her eyes, glistening with affection, absorbed every detail of this face, this strong brow, those tender, endless blue eyes, that masculine nose, straight and noble, these soft lips, appealing and warm, this attractive jaw, again, his eyes. "Neither do I," she breathed.

He grinned. "Good." He kissed her then, a brief, sweet kiss that left them both longing for more, and savoring that feeling, that longing.

After a moment, her gaze became troubled, and she took a step back. "Perhaps… it isn't that simple, though."

He shook his head, trying to shake off her spell. "What's not?"

She turned away, pacing about the kitchen. "What about children? We agreed we wouldn't have children, but if we—"

"What about now?" he interrupted.

She spun around, hesitating. "What? I—"

"Do you want kids now?" he interrupted again, stepping toward her.

Michaela turned away, uncertain. "Sully…" she stalled.

He stepped forward again, knowing she needed him to make himself vulnerable first. "…because I," he took her hands again, turning her around, and ducked his head to find her eyes. "I would."

He smiled tentatively, unsure of what she was thinking. She looked so hesitant. But those gorgeous eyes. A little girl with her eyes…

She stared into his eyes, seeing his sincerity. "You would?" she whispered. Oh, a little boy, with his eyes, his quiet nature, his sun burnished hair.

He nodded. "Yep." He swallowed. "Would you?" he tilted his head, waiting, studying her, trying to read her eyes.

"I… yes, I—I would," she agreed, "but…" she trailed off, uncertain, guiltily seeing the disappointment flicker in his eyes.

"But?" he asked, his voice low.

"I don't know how we could do it, Sully, with my practice, and your travels… and I won't have my children raised by a nanny," she asserted. "Would…" she inhaled a slow breath, raising her head level with his. "Would you have me give up medicine?" she

Brow creased in concern, he shook his head. "No," he breathed. "No, of course not. I would never ask you to give that up. Being a doctor, it's who you are."

"Yes, and I'm not sure if I can do both," she argued.

He didn't hesitate. "I can help—" She shook her head, blinking hard. "I can get a position that doesn't require traveling. I can—"

"But you love what you do," she returned. "I couldn't take that from you. I won't."

He stared at her, her eyes downcast, dark lashes brushing flushed cheeks. He didn't have an answer for her. He raised his hand to her face, encouraging her to look at him, and caressed her cheek.

"Listen, Michaela," he spoke, softly. "I love you. It's gonna be… a while, before… before we've got to decide that." He brushed a tear from her eye with his thumb, even as her cheek warmed under his palm. "But this thing between us, this thing we've been building all these years, it's real, and it won't go away, just 'cause we don't have all the answers."

She nodded, sniffling a little. "I feel as if I know where I want us to be, but I don't know how to get there. And I'm… I'm frightened…"

"You don't have to be afraid, so long as we're walking together." He inhaled deeply, awash in his love for her. "There are no maps, but if you're willing to go on without one…"

She nodded, smiling through her uncertainty. "I am," she whispered.

"Good," he whispered, kissing her. "Good."

* * *

A/N: I'm back! I won't be able to post again for 7-10 days, as I'll be out of town, but I'm back, and this journey will continue regularly beginning with the next chapter. So sorry to have delayed this second installment of your Christmas gift, it's a long story...but not the one you want to hear! Happy new year!


	35. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Christmas was just around the corner, and snow lay in thick drifts against the brick row houses of Acorn Street. Jane had risen from her nap heavy with fatigue; the baby was stealing much of her energy lately, and she was looking forward to her spring delivery. As a result, suppers lately were simple, but the hearty stews and thick breads she put together were both comforting and nourishing. Sully especially relished them, the simple food reminding him of the more rustic meals he'd enjoyed out west.

Every day, Michaela felt she saw more and more of the pioneer in him, and less of the cultured socialite he'd been raised to be. Growing up with the Nordheim's, he had been influenced as much by their spirit of independence and self-sustenance as their social status. And though he functioned with ease in Boston high society, she saw a special light in him in the more private moments away from the assessing eyes of society, and when he was truly able to be himself, it was a relaxed, easy, thoughtful man that emerged. And she loved this man, so dearly, so truly, that it overwhelmed her to be near him sometimes, and at other times, she felt as if she couldn't bear to be away from him. His strength, his steadiness, his compassion, his wisdom.

She sighed, realizing that again she'd become preoccupied by her thoughts and lost track of the cheerful conversation between Sully, Cummings, and Jane. She smiled distractedly as they laughed about something, catching Sully's questioning glance. She cut her eyes away, studying her stew, and once more found herself unable to pay attention to what they were saying.

Her thoughts drifted back to Sully's study. He had gone upstairs to change his clothes before supper, as his pants were wet from the snow, and Michaela had wandered into his study to look for the day's mail. There, on his desk, she'd found the invitation she'd been expecting from her mother, requesting their presence at the annual Quinn Christmas ball. It was open, partially covered by some government forms and carefully penned notes, as if it had been there for some time and was forgotten.

But she wanted to go. Rarely had they danced together, but now, she wanted to. Now… now that there was something more between them, dancing and celebrating together seemed all the more important. Before, their marriage had been a convenience, a ready-made dance partner. But now, it was a luxury and a necessity, to be with him, to dance with him, to celebrate life and family and Christmas and love with him. And yet, he hadn't said anything, never mentioned it in all their conversations, never mentioned it when he asked to court her.

She raised her spoon mechanically to her mouth, absently watching at him, seeing no signs of reluctance or guilt, no signs he was hiding anything, avoiding anything. Her brow creased in frustration. How could he act so carefree? Suddenly, she noticed he was staring back at her, clearly concerned. Blushing foolishly, she dropped her eyes. How long had she been staring at him?

* * *

Jane was in the kitchen putting the coffee and cookies away, and Cummings lighting fires to warm the bedrooms, when Michaela stopped in the door of Sully's study, two medical journals clutched against her chest. She hovered there for a moment, uncertain, and then permitted herself entrance, wandering over to the wing back chairs by the fire, staring into the flames for a moment before she sat down.

Sully had been about to greet her when she ventured into the room, and seeing something brewing beneath the surface, had chosen to remain silent. He could tell she was troubling herself about something. Even now, as she sat there, she couldn't focus on her reading. Her eyes would wander to the flickering flames, and she would stare blankly at them for a while before catching herself and glancing in his direction before lowering her gaze once more to the article she was attempting to read. She had yet to turn the page.

Watching for her reaction, he cleared his throat, and was rewarded with a hesitant meeting of her eyes.

"You haven't talked about the practice for a while… how's it going?"

She returned her gaze to the fire. "Fine. Mrs. Clooney came back to schedule an appointment… apparently she was displeased with Dr. Harrison."

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "That's good."

"Yes," she whispered distractedly, feigning interest in her journal.

Abruptly he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin on his clasped hands. "You wanna tell me?"

"Tell what?" she asked innocently?

"What you're frettin' about?"

Her gaze flew to his. "I'm not fretting," she denied.

"You've been distracted all evening," he stated matter of factly.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes slowly falling to her hands. He rose from his desk, coming over to kneel before her, and took her hands, his eyes trained on her face, waiting.

Finally, she looked up into his eyes. "I'd like to go to the Christmas ball," she murmured, a trace of hope in her voice.

"So?" he asked, confused. Of course they were going.

She returned his confused gaze, wondering why he didn't seem to understand what she was saying. "Are you going to ask me?" she prodded.

He sighed, shrugging. "I just figured," he leaned back on his heels. "…we'd be going together."

Michaela smiled skeptically, her sparkling eyes narrowing. "What made you figure that?"

"Well, we're married, and now we're courtin'. That means we go to things like that together," he said in a measured tone.

"Still, I…" she took a deep breath, summoning her courage. "…I would appreciate being asked," she said tentatively.

They exchanged knowing grins as he rose, pulling her gently to her feet, and holding her hands in his own.

"Will you go to the ball with me," he said slowly, smirking boyishly.

"No," she answered simply, without pause.

He dropped her hands, taking a step back.

"Why not?" he demanded, confused and frustrated.

"You waited too long," she stated matter-of-factly, a twinkle in her eye.

He looked away, sighing. "Fine, I'm not much for dancing anyway," he said stubbornly.

Michaela shook her head, laughter and disbelief in her voice. "I'm sure you've danced plenty of times."

"That doesn't mean I'm any good at it… all the squares and turns…" He threw his hands out in display. "…get all twisted up."

"It's perfectly simple once you learn the patterns," she insisted. "I'll practice with you," she offered, taking his hand.

"I thought you didn't want to go to the dance," he challenged, stiffening.

"I lied," she admitted, blushing at her own boldness. "I do want to go."

His frustration faded in the light of her shy smile. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it, holding her eyes with his own. The warmth of the fire, the glow it cast about her, the excitement of the day – their courtship – the knowledge that she loved him and also the knowledge he needed to maintain control of his instincts to hold her close, to kiss her, it all made his head spin. Heart pounding, he back away, still grinning.

* * *

Sully offered Michaela his arm, leading her up the stairs. He opened her door for her, ushering her in, but grasped her hand as he stopped in the doorway, causing her to turn back to him, barely masking her confusion.

"Goodnight," he whispered, hoping that would be enough to communicate his intentions. It would be too hard, too tempting, too close yet too far away…

Eyes hanging on his, she opened her mouth and closed it again, telling herself not to feel hurt. "Goodnight," she whispered, gently attempting to pull her hand away.

Seeing her confusion, he held fast to her fingers, giving them a soft squeeze. "I just thought… since we're courtin'…" He swallowed hard.

She looked down. "I know," she whispered. She lifted her chin, the familiar strength emanating from her. Lifting to her toes, she kissed his cheek softly. "Goodnight, Sully," she murmured.

He grinned, chuckling a little. "'Night."

* * *

"Thank you, Dr. Mike." Theda's sweet, aging smile warmed Michaela's heart. This was why she had become a doctor: to heal people who had nowhere else to go for help. Theda would have survived without her help, but the infection of her vocal cords would have rendered her mute. Now, she would live to tell her grandchildren bedtime stories.

"You're welcome, Theda." She squeezed the woman's hand, inconspicuously checking her pulse one last time. "Rest now," she admonished. I'll check on you before I leave."

The old woman closed her faded blue eyes, a pleased smile upon her pale lips. Quietly, she rose from the bed and left the room, pulling the door carefully closed behind her. She looked up to find several of her colleagues hovering around the nurses' desk, and she took pause, uncertain as to what may have caused them to linger there.

She headed toward them, half-expecting to find them consulting upon a groundbreaking case. But as she neared them, Sully came into view. Surprised to see him there, she altered her course, but was stopped in her tracks after a few more steps. Indignant rage rushed through her, but remembering their audience, she composed herself.

There he stood, grinning like a fool, with a bouquet of pink, blushing roses in his hand. She forced a half smile, her nostrils flaring.

"Sully," she greeted stiffly.

He reached out to touch her elbow, but she stiffened further at his touch. "Hey, Michaela, I…" he trailed off, confused by her demeanor. "Is everything okay?"

She cast a sideways glance at her colleagues, sure she heard them snicker to one another. Fighting to maintain her composure, she thought quickly.

"Yes, everything's fine." Her tone was neutral and measured. "Thank you for bringing these. Theda's sleeping right now, but she'll be thrilled to have fresh flowers in her room. I'll just take them to her, if you don't mind." She reached for the flowers, holding them at a professional distance. "I'll see you later." She nodded briefly, turned on her heel, and left him standing there, stunned.

Glancing at the smirking doctors, he fought back his embarrassment. Nodding sharply in their general direction, he left, feigning nonchalance.

* * *

Michaela strode briskly up the steps to the front door, breezing past Cummings with a brief nod. She stormed into Sully's study, closing the door firmly behind her, and unbuttoned her coat furiously, throwing it over a nearby chair. Her anger had only increased as the afternoon had carried on, and she was rapidly reaching her boiling point.

His expression cold, Sully rose from his desk, seemingly unphased by her undisguised fury.

"How dare you," she demanded, her voice cold and foreboding.

"How dare I?" he defended, fighting to keep his voice low. "How dare you?"

"What? I…" She was pacing, trying to sort through her thoughts. "You come to the hospital, with flowers, expecting me to… to…"

"Expecting you to say thank you! I don't know, to tell me about your day. But no, you just blow me off—"

"What did you expect me to do, in front of all of my colleagues? It's bad enough that I'm a woman, that I take the grand majority of the pro bono cases at the hospital, but then you bring me flowers? It reinforces the fact that I'm a woman, it underscores their belief that I'm flighty and emotional and therefore incompetent. Don't you see? They want with everything in their beings to prove that I'm incapable of true professionalism, that I'm emotionally and intellectually inferior, and then you practically do it for them! How was I supposed to respond?" She was shaking now, with frustration and fatigue and adrenaline.

Sully staggered back against the bookcase, as if she'd struck him. All afternoon he'd cursed her stubborn pride, his anger building the more he thought about the confrontation he knew was coming. He had been courting her for over a week now and was trying to do something thoughtful. But now, he realized for the first time that this was about her pride in a different sense. Without realizing, he'd threatened her reputation at a time when she was fighting with everything she had to hold on to her career.

"Michaela, I…" he released the breath he'd been holding, guilt and frustration at himself crushing him.

Exhausted, Michaela sunk into a chair before the fire, silent. She knew she shouldn't have raised her voice, but she wouldn't apologize for her anger.

Sully watched her for a moment, this dignified, intelligent, compassionate woman who was no doubt a better physician than any of those stuffy doctors at the hospital, but who faced a future of being overlooked at every turn due to her gender. He wanted to do nothing but lift her up before them, and instead he had thoughtlessly wounded her reputation.

Humbly, he knelt before her, seeking her eyes with his own. But she stared past him into the fire, her face expressionless. "Michaela. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about how those other doctors would look at ya." He took her hands, begging her to look at him. "This morning, I was thinking about how happy I am we're doing this, that things are changing between us." A tear rolled down her cheek, and he brushed it away tenderly. "I wanted to surprise you – I wanted to see you."

She pulled a hand away to brush more tears away. "You certainly did that," she laughed sarcastically.

He chuckled softly, gazing into her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt ya."

"I know." She laughed a little. "It seems we're arguing as we did when we were teenagers," she commented wryly.

"Everything's new again between us," he explained, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. Holding her close, he pressed his cheek against her hair, whispering above the crackle of the flames in the hearth, "just gotta work out some kinks."


	36. Chapter 35

**A/N: As a reminder, I am well aware I own neither the characters of Dr. Quinn, nor the snippets of dialogue I borrow, here and there.**

* * *

Chapter 35

"Step forward, back, forward, and turn. See?"

Michaela and Sully had pushed the furniture out of the way in his study to create room for a dance floor. The Quinn's Christmas ball was the next evening, and they had yet to practice as Michaela had promised. Sully had settled himself on the hearth, his hands on his knees, as he watched Michaela demonstrate the steps.

She looked adorable, stepping and turning before him, and he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was, her slender waist, the expression of concentration on her face, coppery hair glistening in the light of the fire, her fair skin glowing warmly, the swish of her full skirts around her ankles.

"Can't see your feet," he said casually, a playful glint in his eye.

"Oh," she hitched her skirts up, revealing slender, black-stockinged legs as she completed the steps again."See?"

"That's better," he whispered, glancing up at her, his heart thudding in his chest.

Realizing how he was looking at her, she dropped her skirts, blushing as she nervously smoothed them down and folding her hands together.

"Well aren't you going to try?" she asked, her controlled voice never betraying the rapid fluttering of her heart.

"I'd like to see that again," he said playfully, indicating her feet.

"Come on," she chided, pulling him up from his chair. In one fluid motion, his arms encircled her, his lips meeting hers in an innocent kiss.

"Sully!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"What?" He loosened his arms, confused.

"This doesn't come now," she stuttered uncertainly, blushing.

"Comes with courtin'," he grinned. His brow furrowed when she didn't respond. "You've let me kiss you before," he encouraged, his tone warm. He eased closer to her again, the warmth of his palm encircling her ribcage, passing precariously close to her breast, settling against the small of her back.

Flustered by his stirring touch, she touched his arm, gently pushing him away. "But I—I'm trying to show you something," she said, a quiver in her voice.

"What's the matter?" he asked, releasing her as he searched her eyes.

"Nothing," she dismissed, almost too quickly. "It—It's just we don't have much time left." She positioned them to dance, hesitantly meeting his gaze. "Please try," she instructed gently, unwilling to admit to herself how fragile her sense of control really was.

* * *

They arrived early at the Quinn's the next evening, Michaela expecting her mother to be in her normal tizzy in anticipation of the large-scale event. All seemed calm, however, as they entered the foyer, the house aglow with candles, fragrant greenery, velvety red ribbons, and tinsel. Privately, Elizabeth had thrown herself all the more fervently into her social calendar since Josef's death, instinctively needing to distract herself from his absence, her grief. She had been ready for two days, waiting only for the fresh flowers, greenery, and food to arrive fresh the day of her lavish party.

Sully had compliantly completed his dancing lesson the previous evening, though Michaela had remained stiff and a withdrawn. Truthfully, she wasn't angry with him for his behavior. Rather, she was flattered, but she also felt confused and uncertain, afraid to be close to him, frightened of her own feelings. She knew he had been taken aback by her demeanor, yet she couldn't quell the nerves which arose in her breast in response to his nearness, his touch, the way he looked at her. What was more, she didn't understand why she felt as she did, and therefore felt unable to explain herself to him. She was certain only that she loved him, and she was afraid, so very afraid, she would push him away.

Filing her tumultuous feelings away, Michaela ascended the staircase in search of her mother, leaving Sully in the foyer with Rebecca and her husband, Robert.

"Mother?"

Michaela stepped into Elizabeth's bedroom, where she sat at her vanity putting the final touches on her toilette.

"Hello, dear," Elizabeth responded in her usual regal tone.

Michaela took a step forward, surprised at her mother's apparent sense of calm. "Are you feeling well? Rebecca said you wished to see me."

"The question is, are you feeling well." She turned in her chair to study her daughter.

"Wh—yes, I'm fine," she answered evenly, perplexed.

"And still as slender as ever, I see," Elizabeth remarked disapprovingly, rising to slip into her kid slippers for the ball.

Michaela rolled her eyes. "What are you implying, Mother," she said tiredly.

"Only that you have been married seven months now, and you have yet to show signs of motherhood," she observed ostentatiously.

Michaela's lips parted in shock. "Mother!"

"I know he is your best friend Michaela, but that gives you no right to deny him his rights as your husband. It is your duty as his wife—"

"I am well aware of my duties, Mother," she interrupted with equal condescension.

"And I suppose you would blame your failure to conceive on Sully's absence?"

"I won't blame it on anything, Mother. We are happily married, it should please you to know, and children—" her heart skipped at the implications. "—Children will come in their own time," she cajoled.

"Children, my dear, are a natural consequence of a dutiful marriage, happy or not," Elizabeth stated authoritatively, eyeing her daughter. "Now, I must get downstairs to greet my guests." She brushed past Michaela, leaving her standing there, in her parents' room, more uncertain than ever, and quite overwhelmed.

* * *

Descending the stairs, Michaela felt her control slipping. She'd taken several minutes to compose herself after her mother left, but for the second time since she'd arrived, she felt as if she might burst from the pressure of it all. Entering the ballroom, her eyes met Sully's across the room, and though he was a source of her uncertainty, she felt immensely relieved to see him. Hurriedly, she wove through the crowd toward him.

Halfway there, she felt someone pull her aside, only to find it was her sister.

"Rebecca?"

"Happy Christmas, Michaela," she said sweetly.

"Happy Christmas," she returned, perplexed by the way her eldest sister seemed to be searching her countenance. "Is everything alright?"

"Walk with me, Michaela?" was all she said.

"Certainly," she agreed, slipping her arm through Rebecca's. She glanced back at Sully, and he nodded to her almost imperceptibly, a faint grin on his lips.

They walked silently together up to Michaela's old bedroom, and closed the door behind them.

"Rebecca?" Michaela inquired as Rebecca perched on the bed.

"How are you and Sully doing, Mike?"

"Sully and I? We're…" she froze. "Did Mother put you up to this?"

Rebecca stared into the empty fire grate. "I remember my first year of marriage, wondering if my married life was normal. Of course Mother spoke with me before the wedding, to prepare me for what was to come. But later, after Robert and I had been married for several months, I wondered... And I had no one to talk to. No one I could come to."

Michaela nodded, sitting next to Rebecca on the bed, and looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Mother is disappointed we haven't conceived yet," she spoke low.

Rebecca shook her head, her dark ringlets bobbing with the movement. "Oh, Mike, you of all people know children don't always come along right away."

"Yes, I know," she whispered, unsure how much she should tell her sister.

"Do you have any questions about… I remember how uncertain I was about… things… after I had been married for a time…" Rebecca said awkwardly.

"He's my best friend, Rebecca," Michaela hedged.

Rebecca patted her hand. "Of course he is—"

Michaela fell silent, at once afraid to confide in her sister, and longing to do so. Finally, her desire for her sister's confidence won out. "Sully and I… We—we haven't…" she raised pleading eyes to the soft, brown ones of her sister.

Understanding dawned on her. "…Oh…" she said slowly. "Oh, Mike…" She said carefully, unsure of Michaela's feelings on the matter.

"We agreed, when we were engaged, that we wouldn't… It was too—uncomfortable…" she said, looking away. "I—no one knows."

"Sully is a man of character, isn't he," Rebecca remarked wonderingly.

"Yes, he is." Michaela smiled a little. "It was his idea."

"That was very considerate of him," Rebecca complimented, remembering the way Sully had been looking at her sister a few minutes before, wondering if Michaela was aware of his true feelings.

"We've… we've fallen in love, Rebecca," Michaela whispered, tentatively meeting Rebecca's eyes.

"I see," she said after a meaningful pause. "Then… how are… things… now?"

Michaela's eyes widened at Rebecca's implication. "Oh!" she shook her head. "No, we're—we're courting."

The older woman looked perplexed. "Courting?"

Michaela smiled softly, looking unseeing at her hands, absently toying with her wedding ring. "That's what I said… He—he wants us to take things slowly, since we didn't truly court before." Abruptly, her eyes met her sister's, sharp anxiety replacing the soft wonder that had filled her expression a moment before. "Oh, Rebecca, I feel so confused! I've always felt so confident in other matters, but in this… I… Sully makes me feel things, wonderful things, but those feelings frighten me, as well…"

"Oh, Mike, such feelings are perfectly normal."

She shook her head, feeling Rebecca didn't understand. "He wants to kiss… and touch…"

Rebecca blushed. "Yes, well, isn't that part of courting?"

"Is it? I suppose I never paid much attention to such things…"

"Oh, Mike, kissing and touching… it's perfectly normal. And healthy. And it's wonderful, but you're right, it is overwhelming. I remember the first time Robert put his arms around me while he kissed me. It was exciting, and frightening, too, I suppose. It felt wonderful to be held so close, and I remember thinking I might faint, my heart was beating so fast. And I wondered what it might be like, if he were to deepen the kiss, or perhaps kiss my neck. Or what it might be like when we were married…"

Michaela blushed. Sully's close embrace last night had brought similar thoughts to mind.

"I know those feelings can be frightening, when certain things seem so… unimaginable… so far away. But you must try to enjoy how you're feeling now, to embrace it. The wonder, the magic, the mystery of it. As things progress, they're equally wonderful, sometimes more so in their own way, but a simple kiss may never hold that same kind of wonder, may never be so exciting, again. The familiarity is beautiful, too, of course, but that stirring, frightening wonder is something to be treasured, rather than avoided."

"Then you—you enjoy…?"

Rebecca smiled softly, her eyes far away. "Yes, very much."

Michaela dropped her eyes as she fingered the folds of her skirt, blushing.

"Oh, Michaela, it's so romantic, what you have with Sully right now."

"Is it? I thought it was rather awkward."

"It isn't very often one is able to fall in love at her own pace. There are usually very strict constraints on one side, or expectations on the other – courtship, the wifely duty, as Mother calls it. But Sully has given you such a gift, to be able to move forward in your own timing, to come together when you're both truly ready. I'm so very happy for you."

Michaela smiled tearfully, feeling as if Rebecca had removed blinders from her eyes. "Thank you, Rebecca," she whispered tearfully. "Thank you for our talk."

Rebecca hugged her tightly. "I'm always here for you, Mike. You can always come to me with anything."

Michaela pulled back, sniffling. "You won't tell Mother?"

Rebecca giggled, shaking her head. "What are sisters for?"

* * *

Sully was standing next to the bowl of mulled cider talking to Senator Blackwell when Michaela descended the stairs with Rebecca. He had thought her breathtakingly beautiful when she had emerged from her room on Acorn street, the vivid red silk gown set in contrast with her fair shoulders, soft ringlets brushing the curve of her neck, a self-conscious blush upon her cheeks. But now. Now, she looked perhaps a little tired, but altogether radiant. She blushed when their eyes met, but he realized it wasn't the becoming pink of her cheeks that caused his heart to skip a beat, but the light in her eyes. Over the past weeks, he had been worried when her composure had increasingly tamped out the ember of vitality and freedom in her eyes. He was afraid it had to do with him, that maybe their courtship wasn't such a good idea.

Distractedly, he excused himself from the senator, moving toward the staircase as she neared the bottom.

"Well, I must be finding Robert. Have you seen him, Sully?"

"…Huh?" He tore his eyes away from Michaela's long enough to glance back into the ballroom. "Over by the fireplace, I think…"

Rebecca smiled knowingly at him, and cast a meaningful glance at Michaela, who dropped her eyes, smiling a little. Sully barely noticed Rebecca's retreating figure. There was a new freedom in Michaela's countenance, and it was captivating. He wanted to whisk her away somewhere, but resisted. She'd barely been able to enjoy the party yet, and she'd been looking forward to it.

He cleared his throat, causing her to meet his eyes, the timid shine in them almost making him forget what he was going to say.

"W-would you like to dance?" he asked, one corner of his mouth rising in a charming smile.

Her smile was soft, wide, shy. "Yes," she breathed.

He held his hand out, and she placed hers there, allowing him to lead her into a waltz. Her eyes sparkled warmly in the candlelight, his hand on her lower back set her heart fluttering high in her chest. The warm glow of the candlelit room surrounded them, and the world fell away as they became lost in one another's eyes.

* * *

"Sully?" Michaela held fast to Sully's hand when he turned toward his own bedroom. "I'm not tired just yet." There was that new openness in her eyes again, that fresh spark of life, of fire, of anticipation.

He grinned. "Come sit with me by the fire?"

Michaela stopped just inside the door, biting her lip as looked around Sully's room while he shut the door behind them. Circling her slowly, he eased in front of her, his hands rising to frame her waist.

"This okay?"

Once corner of her mouth rose in a crooked smile, and she nodded shyly, feeling an odd, new sense of freedom to enjoy her feelings, to appreciate the nervousness he stirred in her.

Watching her carefully, he leaned in slowly, kissing her softly, his lips meeting hers for the space of a breath before he pulled away. Tenderly holding her gaze, he grinned boyishly, and then backed away, leading her to sit upon the chest at the foot of his bed, close to the fire. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied the flames.

"What did your mother have to say tonight?"

She rolled her eyes. "She was concerned that a married woman of seven months shouldn't have kept her figure so long as I have," she explained wryly.

"Kept your…?" He turned to her, his brow furrowed. She raised an eyebrow, and his eyes widened in understanding. "Oh," he uttered uncomfortably. "…You alright?"

Michaela nodded, a wry smile upon her lips.

"…Is that what Rebecca was talking to you about too?"

"In a way, I suppose," she said lightly. "She wanted to know if I had any… concerns… about our—our marriage," she said delicately.

"Concerns." He studied her expression, his heart rising to his throat in response to the knowing twinkle in her eyes.

"Concerns," she reiterated meaningfully.

"…I see."

She looked at him, his broad form cast in shadow and light, the way the crisp white cotton of his shirt stretched over his back as he leaned forward. She felt an attraction to him in that moment she hadn't known before, felt it deep within her. She took a steadying breath. "I told her, Sully." She looked at him tentatively, her eyes full of concern. Had she betrayed him, his confidence?

He turned to her, a little surprised. "Told her what?"

"About us… about our relationship. I've never told anyone before," she murmured, dropping her eyes.

"Me neither," he agreed, his voice low.

"Does that upset you?" she asked gently.

"No," he said without hesitation. "I'm glad you could have another woman to talk to."

Michaela smiled a little, her eyes reflecting the flickering movement of the flames.

"Sully?" She turned to him, taking his larger hands in her own small ones as he turned toward her on the bench, their knees touching. "I've been so foolish lately; afraid of… of what was happening between us…"

"Michaela…" he whispered compassionately.

She shook her head, silencing him. Tears of love shone in her eyes, and she brushed them away. "I'm so glad to have you, Sully. I want… I—I want us to continue—"

"Me too," he interrupted, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"Even when I've been so foolish?" she asked coyly, her eyes sparkling.

He chuckled silently, losing himself in her eyes, in her sweetness, in everything she was. "Especially then," he whispered, kissing her soundly before she could say more.

She gasped in belated surprise when he pulled back, gazing into her eyes. The intensity of his love for her burned hot in his chest, her innocence, eagerness, and courage to explore their growing love touching him deeply. He pressed his forehead to hers, framing her face in his hands. He felt her soft sigh against his chin, and kissed her again, pressing his lips against one corner of her mouth, and then the other, before he met her lips fully once more.

Her heart racing, warmth flushing her cheeks, she submitted herself to his touch, his kiss. Her shaking hands rose from her lap to cradle his jaw, drawing him closer. He sighed against her lips, his hands falling down her bare shoulders to her corseted waist, pulling her closer even as his touch stirred her senses. Their lips closed and soft, they kissed again and again, the room quiet but for their impassioned breathing and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Finally, feeling dizzy from his kiss, Michaela broke away, bowing her head as she struggled to steady her breathing. He pressed his lips to her forehead, amazed and moved by her response to his affections. Never before had she so openly returned his kiss, and the notion sent another thrill through his body.

She looked up at him, and her eyes, though still shy, shone with love and affection, pure and true. He was holding her so close, his hands warm around her. Her fingers in his thick hair, her thumbs brushing the corners of his jaw, her body stirred at the intimacy of the moment, the implications it held for their future. Her gaze fell from his eyes to his lips, remembering his kiss, and not daring to run her thumb over them as she wanted to, she boldly kissed him again, softly.

When she pulled away, he leaned toward her again, spurred on by her bold initiative, but she stopped him with her palm against his heart.

"We should go to bed…it's late," she whispered, her eyes innocently seductive.

One corner of his mouth rose in a slow grin, and she blushed, realizing the double meaning of her words.

"…I—I mean—"

"I know," he whispered, stroking her cheek. He rose, pulling her to her feet, and walked her the short distance down the hall. Letting out a deep breath, he held her fingers in his, not wanting to let her go yet. Not ever.

He looked so handsome, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top, his eyes cobalt blue in the darkness. She didn't want to leave him yet, but knew she must. She smiled; this was the tension Rebecca had said to enjoy. And she was.

"Good night, Sully," she whispered, a crooked little smile upon her lips.

He looked at her quizzically, but she was already moving away, opening her door.

"'Night," he whispered as her fingers slipped from his. "I love you," he murmured as the door closed behind her.

Minutes later, Michaela sank into her pillows, pressing her feet against the hot water bottle under her covers. She pressed her hands against her neck, feeling her rapid pulse thrumming beneath her fingers. "I love you, too," she whispered dreamily, far from sleep.


	37. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

In the days following the Quinn's Christmas ball, Michaela devoted herself to her practice and her patients at the hospital. The practice she had shared with her father was still waning, though she was managing to keep it afloat, if just barely. Its downfall seemed imminent, but she refused to give up, to give in to the patriarchal attitudes that predominated the world of medicine. Determination had brought her everything she had achieved professionally, and it would lead her to success here, as well.

Sully, for his part, was busy maintaining correspondence with statesmen in Philadelphia, Boston, New York, and Washington. Talk of war was increasingly threatening, even as Indian conflicts swelled to overwhelming in the western territories. Talk was circling about where his peace-negotiating skills would be best put to use, and he was increasingly uneasy about being asked to leave Michaela sooner than he was ready.

Despite their absorbing professional lives, Christmas came and went with quiet joy in the Sullys' row house on Acorn Street, punctuated briefly by a lavish family dinner given by Elizabeth. Sully and Michaela exchanged simples gifts of sweets, books, and stationary, and Michaela gave Sully a new pocket watch with a current portrait of herself mounted inside, to carry along on his travels. Ironically, Sully had been of the same mind, giving her a handsomely framed portrait of himself to keep on her desk or nightstand while he was away. Each anticipated that his next assignment would come soon, but neither mentioned it to the other, preferring to make the most of this time they had together, this calm before an impending storm.

Their courtship progressed in all the richness and sweetness with which it began as Michaela's awkwardness and uncertainty began to fall away. Sully continued to show both initiative and restraint. Their kisses remained sweet and innocent, even as they increasingly, secretly, longed for more. He frequently surprised her with flowers in the mornings when she emerged from her room, and left sweet notes or poetry copied in his own hand on her pillow at night. They often sat up late into the evenings, talking about everything, reading together, and holding hands.

Rarely did Sully allow himself to become too lost in her, permitting himself only chaste kisses outside her bedroom door before they retired for the evening. Still, every day grew his desire for more, his longing for greater intimacy. A turn of her head, the play of light over her skin, the particular cut of her dress, the bright glitter of jade and amber beneath the heavy fringe of her lashes as she glanced at him, her crooked smile, each would accelerate the beating of his heart in his chest. His dreams were filled with her, with them, and it was rare that he awoke in the morning, his body calm, his mind filled with something other than Michaela.

Down the hall, Michaela's dreams came very close to mirroring his own. They were filled with his warmth, his strength, the tenderness of his caresses, the lure of his kiss. With every day that passed, she became more aware of his nearness, the strength of his muscular chest and shoulders beneath his shirt, the soft pressure of his lips on her own, and with her awareness grew her surprising desire to touch him, to be held by him. But despite Rebecca's reassurance, she couldn't help but be embarrassed by what to her were quite shocking desires.

Heat rising to her cheeks, she shook her head, scolding herself for her straying thoughts. It was St. Valentine's Day, and they had made no plans. Secretly, she wondered if he had planned a surprise for her this evening, but her sensibilities told her that was nonsense. He was wonderful to her every day; they didn't need a special occasion to celebrate their blossoming romance.

Sighing in resignation, she pulled a bottle out of the crate before her, holding the label up to the wintery sunlight filtering through her office window. Quinine. She slid it onto the shelf in the cabinet, straightening it in front of the others before she drew out the next bottle. Morphine.

Now fully absorbed in the task before her, she was startled to feel a large hand slip around her waist, another rest on her shoulder, and a kiss brush over her temple.

"Sully!" she exclaimed in surprise, embarrassed.

He sweetly caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Sun's out. Snow's fresh this morning. Come ice skating with me."

She glanced out the window, seeing the sun sparkle upon crisp, white snow.

"I—I'd love to, Sully, but I can't." She removed another bottle from the crate. "I've got this shipment to unpack, and files to organize…"

"You have any patients this afternoon?" he asked, hovering behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders as she tried determinedly to continue working.

"No. But I— Sully!" She exclaimed as he suddenly swept her into his arms, carrying her across her office toward the foyer. "What are you doing?" she chided, laughing, pulling her arms around his neck for balance.

"Michaela Anne Quinn, what on earth is this ungodly ruckus!" Elizabeth scolded firmly as she came around the corner from the morning room. She paused in her footsteps as Sully slowed his own, setting Michaela down with a sheepish grin.

"Mother," Michaela began as she folded her hands together, completely flustered. "We—"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, struggling to hide the smile quirking at the corner of her lips. "Well, I must say it's comforting to see you take an afternoon off, Michaela," she stated. Perhaps her concerns about forthcoming grandchildren were unfounded.

Michaela was so mortified to have been caught in such a position by her mother that she couldn't think of how to respond. Sully drew her heavy wool cloak around her shoulders, grinning like a schoolboy.

"'Bye, Mrs. Quinn," he said, ushering a still stunned Michaela out the door.

"Good day, Sully. Michaela."

* * *

"You're awful quiet," Sully commented as he strapped on his skates. The Common was beautiful today, trees silver with snow, the sun glittering off the ice. The world was fresh and clean, and the bustle of the city seemed far away.

"I can't believe Mother saw us like that. She must think we still behave like children when we're alone."

"She thinks," he said confidently as he pulled her to her feet, "that we're in love. And if we're in love, she's going to get some more grandchildren after all."

"Sully!" Michaela scolded, abashed.

He spun around, skating backwards in front of her, offering no more reply than a suggestive grin.

Giving in, she laughed, shaking her head ruefully. "Aren't you going to skate with me?" she asked, her expression at once intentionally playful and unconsciously flirtatious.

He chuckled, turning and falling back to take her hand.

"You bet," he whispered, bumping her shoulder with his own.

* * *

Sully leaned casually against Michaela's doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. It was nearly dawn, and he'd risen early to make sure he would catch her. He could hear her rustling about a bit, and she was bound to come out soon. He waited, trying not to crinkle the envelope in his hand as he shifted around nervously.

He wanted tonight to be special. They had come a long way in their courtship, and he sensed she was growing more comfortable with the more physical aspects of their relationship. He grinned, remembering the look in her eyes when he kissed her goodnight, glad she trusted him, glad she seemed to enjoy being with him.

Michaela's door swung open without warning, and Sully jumped to his feet, startling her completely.

"Sully," she laughed. "You frightened me. What are you doing?"

"Happy birthday," he murmured with a sheepish grin.

She looked surprised. "I— thank you," she whispered, searching his eyes.

"…I— wanted to ask you…" he stuttered. "I was hopin'… Would you like to go out with me tonight?" He cleared his throat, thrusting the envelope toward her. "I got us tickets to the opera."

"The opera," she breathed, smiling. She turned the envelope over, removing the tickets. "La Traviata. At the Howard. Do you know this one?"

He shook his head nervously. "I heard of it. I hoped you'd like it."

"Yes, it's—it's beautiful. My favorite." She touched his forearm, trying to ease his apparent nerves. She wasn't sure she had ever seen him this nervous.

He smiled a little, hope kindling in his eyes. "Then you'll go?" he rose his eyebrows in question.

"Yes," she laughed softly. "Of course I'll go. Thank you."

* * *

"Would you like some punch?" Sully and Michaela were perched in box seats, making them feel as if they were the only two in the theatre. Occasionally, they whispered together about what was happening. They were taken by one another and this private, romantic evening together. The curtains had just drawn on the second act, beginning a short intermission.

"Yes, let's," she replied, rising to her feet. Michaela accepted his arm, and the couple wandered through the lobby of the Howard toward the refreshment desk.

"Aren't these windows beautiful? You should see them in the daylight," Michaela said, stopping near the large, gothic, stained glass windows dominating the theatre's lobby.

"They are," Sully murmured, studying them for a moment before turning his gaze to her profile. She blushed a little, smiling shyly up at him.

"Dr. Quinn! Mr. Sully! What a pleasure to see you here!"

The couple turned to find Dr. David Lewis and another colleague of Michaela's whom Sully hadn't met before, Dr. William Burke, approaching them. Sully bristled, recognizing the starry look in David's eyes, and a nearly identical expression in the other man's.

"David. William. What a surprise," Michaela greeted them warmly. "Sully, this is Dr. William Burke. He has partnered with me on several of my pro bono cases. William, I don't believe you've met my husband, Sully."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sully," William greeted him warmly, extending his hand. "Michaela speaks quite highly of your work."

"Thank you," Sully replied stiffly, disliking the familiarity with which they addressed one another.

Michaela, slightly embarrassed by Sully's brevity, smiled warmly at the men. "What brings the two of you here tonight?"

David chuckled. "Politics, Michaela. There are certain hospital donors here tonight who are considering significant contributions to our surgical facilities, and the chief asked us to romance them, so to speak. Perhaps you should join us, Michaela. You have quite a way with words," David coaxed.

"Yes, David is right," William encouraged. "You are incredibly persuasive."

Sully gritted his teeth, knowing they were right, but preferring to keep her to himself tonight. Unconsciously, he balled his hand into a fist, defensive of their limited time together, defensive of their privacy, frustrated with they way they were admiring her in her black sequined gown.

Michaela blushed, flattered, as she felt Sully's arm tense under her fingers. She cast him a sideways glance, seeing his jaw clench as he eyed her colleagues warily.

"Thank you, gentlemen. You're both very kind. But I am sure the chief's confidence in you is well-founded." The men smiled accommodatingly, pleased. "Sully and I were just getting some punch, if you would excuse us." The men moved aside to allow them to pass. "Good evening, David. William."

"Good evening," they murmured, longingly watching her move away.

Sully placed his hand at her waist, guiding her through the crowd.

"You didn't have to do that," he spoke into her ear. "You could've talked to 'em."

She turned to him as they stopped in line, looking into his eyes, now grey with guilt. "I know. But it's my birthday," she murmured, a compelling lilt in her voice. "And I want to enjoy the opera. With you." One corner of her mouth rose in a smile, and her eyes sparkled becomingly.

Something swelled inside him in response to her sentiment, so overpowering that he might have made a spectacle of them had the concessioner not asked for their order at that moment. He grinned, holding her more securely, and ordered their punch.

He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her at home in his room at this moment, to kiss her and hold her and push out of his mind the way David and William had looked at her, to prove to himself that she didn't care.

* * *

Michaela padded down the hall in her robe and slippers, having slipped out of her corset and let down her hair. She had been about ready to slip under the covers when she heard music playing, a waltz. She neared Sully's room, seeing lamplight glowing beneath his door, accompanying the quiet strains of the waltz.

She knocked, slowly opening the door before her.

"Sully?" she whispered.

He stood in his pajamas next to the gramophone, which he'd apparently brought up from the parlor, which they rarely used. His hands were behind his back, and his head was cocked at an angle that told her he was pleased with himself, a satisfied smile upon his face.

She grinned, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.

"What are you doing?" she laughed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Thought you might want to dance," he murmured.

"How did you know I'd come?" she put him off.

"I know you. Curiosity gets the best of you sometimes."

She shook her head, dropping her eyes in an attempt to hide her smile. He approached her, and offered her his hand, leading her before the fire. They were silent for some time as they danced, absorbed as they were in the moment and memories of their evening together.

"Thank you for tonight. The opera. It was beautiful."

He gazed into her eyes, finding himself somewhat lost in her beauty in that moment. Her hair was so rarely down, but now it glowed about her. He swallowed. "It was," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes raking her face.

Her gaze faltered self-consciously, and she moved closer to him, turning her head to rest her cheek on his shoulder. He leant his head against hers and closed his eyes, their waltz easing into a gentle swaying motion before the flames. He drew her hand against his heart, nuzzling against her hair. David and this William guy were nothing. This, this was perfect. She was perfect. And he knew in that moment no one else would ever know her like this.

She turned her face into his neck, her breath soft against his skin. He kissed her temple and she tilted her head up, her nose brushing his jaw as she breathed him in. His lips brushed over her cheek, then the softness of her lips, brushing together again and again. Her breath caught, and her head fell back a little, overwhelmed by him. There lips met again, softly, passionately, and he released her hand to support her neck beneath the fall of her hair, smooth and warm. Her palm opened over his heart, and he held her close, savoring this moment.

"Happy birthday," he whispered. She only melted further into him, and they sank to the floor, falling asleep curled together before the fire.

* * *

"Evening, Cummings."

"Good evening, Mr. Sully.'

Glancing back toward the study as he turned out of his coat, he noticed Michaela standing quietly in the doorway, shy, expectant, pleased he was home. Her eyes alone beckoned him to join her, and had he not bad news to give her, he would have exulted in the opportunity to explore this greater closeness for a few moments before dinner. As it was, his heart was pounding for an altogether different reason.

A small smile blossomed on her lips as he approached, but doubt replaced the pleasure in her eyes as he drew near, recognizing his troubled expression. Touching her arm, he greeted her quietly as he guided her back into the room. Perhaps it was all in her head.

She turned questioning eyes upon him as he closed the door behind them.

"You're just in time, Jane promised dinner within the hour."

Smiling obligingly, he placed his hand over her lower arm, the warmth and intimacy of it thrilling her.

"Sounds good. I was hoping we could talk some before supper."

Concern etched her brow. "Is everything alright?"

His other hand came up to cover her other arm, and his eyes focused pensively on the crewelwork at her shoulder. Finally, he met her concerned gaze. "James wants me to go back, soon as the lines are clear."

"So soon? I thought he was going to let you stay for a while, since you'd been gone so long—"

"It's been a long time already." He took in a deep breath. "There's trouble brewing between the army and the Indians, and he wants me to go try and smooth it out before too many are killed."

She looked down. "I suppose we knew this was how it would be."

His hands moved higher up her arms, caressing her as his gaze turned deep and tender. He stepped fractionally closer, enough to cause her breath to hitch in her throat.

"I was hoping for more time with you, now that things are… different… between us."

She blushed, her eyes wide and hesitating under his steady gaze.

"So was I," she whispered, surprising herself with her boldness.

A corner of his mouth rose in a slight smile, and he watched his thumb graze the crook of her neck, brushing a wisp of hair away. Until last night, he'd never touched her neck before. Raising his eyes back to hers, he found she was still watching his face, jade and amber at once lustrous and timid. Love swelled thick and consuming in his chest, and he lightly touched her chin with his thumb, tilting her face to meet his as his lips brushed hers, lightly, sweetly.

Eyes wide with anxious anticipation fluttered closed at the touch of his mouth, her heart beating at an alarming speed in response. His other hand slid from her shoulder down the length of her back, settling low on her back. He didn't pull her toward him, but the intimacy of his touch sent her reeling just the same. When she opened her eyes again, he was regarding her with so much tenderness, and she felt his thumb brush over her cheek, her eyes to fluttering once more at the sensation.

The sheer volume of emotions coursing through her were beginning to frighten her, and with an effort, she composed herself, afraid to yield to them. He saw the change, and released her from his embrace, remembering they needed to take things one step at a time. Stepping back a little, he cleared his throat.

"I put in a request to delay my departure, but even if they grant it, it might not be more than a week."

Michaela nodded, dropping her gaze absently to the carpet and turned to the fire, still reeling from his kiss and trying to bring herself together. "How long?"

"I don't know. Probably another six months… maybe more." Silence met his answer, and he moved to stand next to her, so he could see her face. He swallowed hard. "I was thinkin'," Michaela smiled a little at his relaxed dialect, which still only surfaced occasionally, though more and more often, "maybe you could come along. You'd love Colorado, and where we'd be going, they don't have a doctor…"

She shook her head, turning to face him. "I can't leave my practice for that long, Sully. You know how hard it's been to keep it afloat with Father gone, but to take such a prolonged leave of absence—"

"They'd understand. You can tell them in advance, and refer them to someone else while you're gone. You did it before—"

"And they'll never come back to me. Not after such an absence. Don't you see, Sully? Such a trip could effectively end my career."

"I see what you're saying, but I don't know if I agree. I do know I'll miss you," he caressed her arm, and she cut her eyes away, blushing. He withdrew, knowing he shouldn't push her too much now. "Listen, just… think about it. I've got to go down to Washington for a few days. We'll talk about it when I get back."


	38. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Michaela turned this way and that before the full length mirror in her bedroom, critically inspecting her reflection as Jane put some final stitches in the trim at her wrist. Michaela bit her lip anxiously, nervousness overwhelming her for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. Sully would be back tomorrow, and she wanted her new dresses to be finished before he returned. She wanted to surprise him.

"Do you really think it's alright?" she asked Jane, smoothing the gathered skirt as the assessed herself once more. Jane smiled.

"Yes, M—"

Both women spun around in surprise as the door suddenly swung open, Sully's broad silhouette filling the doorframe. His eyes widened when he saw her, shock rapidly replacing the contented grin with which he'd entered, followed quickly by intense, burning pleasure.

"Sully, I… you're home early…" Michaela trailed off, glancing down at her dress self-consciously.

Jane recognized the expression in Sully's eyes as one that warranted privacy, and tried to hide her smile. "Excuse me, Dr. Quinn. Mr. Sully. I must see to supper now."

"Oh, but Jane… You—you don't have to…" Michaela sputtered, unsure what Sully was thinking and equally uncertain she wanted to be left alone with him, but Jane was already closing the door behind her.

Michaela glanced awkwardly at Sully, and found she couldn't remove her gaze from his. His eyes were like limpid, blue flames, his shoulders broad in his white shirt. Slowly, he began to approach her, one corner of his mouth rising in a smile that made her breath catch in her chest. She felt suddenly as if his gaze was consuming her. He stopped before her, his eyes raking her form.

She swallowed nervously, her throat suddenly dry. "I… I'm told calico is quite common… out west."

He chuckled once, the sound a low thrum in his throat. His eyes met hers, and she found them glossy with tears. "You're comin'," he whispered in awe.

She nodded. "I—"

She was interrupted by his kiss. Sully drew her in close, one arm around her back and the other supporting her head. Elation swelled in his chest. They would be together. She was sacrificing so much. For him. For them. She was such a beautiful, selfless woman. He could share his world with her, bring the place he loved together with the woman he loved more than anything. Moved, he held her closer, his lips pressing more firmly against hers. She gasped in response, clutching the back of his shirt in her fists as she held herself against him.

Forgetting his control, he parted his lips to meet hers, deepening the kiss as he captured first her top lip, then the bottom one, between his own. As passion pooled in her limbs, Michaela sank against him, weak with pleasure.

She didn't know what she was doing, hadn't expected this, and instinctively followed his lead. All thought left her except for him, and the unanticipated passion of the moment. Never had she felt so overcome, never had her body been so overrun by sensation, by passion. The intensity so recently burning in his eyes was emblazoned on the backs of her eyelids, and the heat of his body suffused her own as he laid her slowly back onto the bed, bracing his body above hers as he continued to kiss her, consuming her.

Feeling lightheaded more from emotion than lack of air, she managed to release his shirt, bringing her hand around to brace her palm against his chest.

"Sully," she gasped.

He lifted his head a little, his eyes hazy, and gazed lovingly at her, caressing her cheek, brushing his thumb over her flushed lips. She smiled softly, becoming lost in his eyes, and he returned her smile. His chest swelled with emotion as he considered everything she had brought to his life over so many years, and suddenly he felt selfish, his eyes turning tender with concern.

"Michaela," he rasped, "you don't have to do this. I can put in for a transfer, get an office job. We can be together here."

She shook her head, her finger falling lovingly down his jaw. "No. I'll go. I want to go. I've notified my patients. And your heart is out there, out west, with the Indians and your work. I couldn't ask you to give it up."

His eyes clouded, his brow knitting together, perplexed. "My heart is with you, Michaela. My heart is yours now. When are you going to understand?"

Tears sprung to her eyes, her lips parting emotively. "Sully," she whispered breathlessly, arching her neck to kiss him. He met her lips tenderly, deeply, slow and breathless with passion. His hand moved from her jaw, over her shoulder and down to her waist as he leaned his torso over her, deeply caressing her side, softer now without the stiffly boned corsets she wore in Boston, the smooth weave of the calico perfectly tailored to her body.

She pushed his hair away from his eyes, reverently framing his head in her hands as she returned his kiss. His hair was so soft, the waves of it luxurious against her fingers. She was breathing hard, could feel her heart pounding in her sensitive fingertips. Her entire body felt so sensitive to his touch, his nearness, his heat. The implications of the moment weren't lost on her, and sent currents of something new, inexplicable, through her being.

He pulled back, kissing her lightly as he raised his head from hers.

"This okay? Is it too much?"

She smiled, idly realizing how natural it was to be with him like this. "No." She gazed at him for a moment. "I love you so much."

"You didn't have to close your practice. We could stay—"

She pressed her fingers to his lips. "No. It was freeing, finally letting go. I'll start a new one, for as long as we're there, and I'll start over here when we come back. I can do it. I know I can."

"'Course you can," he breathed, regarding her with awe. "You're so…" He couldn't think of what to say. "…So beautiful," he whispered.

She rolled her eyes, pushing a little against his chest. "We'd better pack or we'll never make it to Colorado," she murmured, her smile coy.

He dropped his forehead on the bed next to her ear and growled, looking at her adoringly once more before he pulled her to her feet.

* * *

Everything had been settled quickly. Jane and Cummings would stay on Acorn Street, and David would ensure a safe delivery of their little one in a month's time. Michaela's patients had been referred out, her files put in order, and her resignation submitted to the hospital. William would pick up her pro bono patients. Though reluctant to see Michaela leave, Elizabeth threw an opulent farewell dinner for them, at which friends and family alternately wished them well and questioned Michaela's sanity. Together they visited Josef's grave, and Michaela told him everything, how they'd fallen in love, that they would be gone for a time, and afterward, she felt close to him again.

Michaela elected to leave most of her clothing and belongings on Acorn Street, selecting only a few sentimental treasures and a few day dresses Sully thought might be simple enough for attending dances or church in Colorado. She packed the calicos on top, and the traveling dresses and nightclothes she would use on the journey went in a smaller traveling case.

Michaela pinned her hat, and straightened the fitted jacket of her traveling dress, satisfied with her appearance. Though she knew she was facing a vast unknown, she was excited to discover new things, meet new people, and start somewhere fresh, free from the expectations that had pushed and pulled on her life thus far. She was ready for this. Ready to embark on this new journey, side-by-side with Sully.

There was a knock on her door, and Sully opened it at her invitation. His eyes surveyed her locked trunk, carpet bag, and purse, and finally landed on her. He stepped into the room, moving to her side to brush the back of his hand over her cheek, unable to resist kissing her there as well.

"You ready?" he asked, his hand falling down her back to her waist.

"Yes," she smiled, turning to face him. She lifted to her toes and kissed his cheek, then straightened his tie, blushing at the intimacy of such a gesture. "Shall we?" she invited, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

He grinned, finding her energy contagious.

"I'll have Cummings help me with your trunk."

* * *

Michaela stood at the train station, surrounded by currents of moving passengers, remembering the times she had waited here for Sully. How different things had been then. She had never expected their lives to turn this way, but she couldn't be more content. For a time, not so long ago, she'd thought she might never see him again, and despite it all, she felt perfectly happy with the journey they'd taken together, how their lives had progressively merged together from childhood until now. What was more, their future looked even brighter.

Noting Sully had been gone several minutes at the ticket counter, Michaela turned and craned her neck, trying to see him over the crowd. She located him just as he turned around, his jaw set in frustration.

The whistle blew as he approached her. Without a word, he guided her toward the train, his touch, at least, gentle.

"Sully?" she questioned, concerned.

He didn't respond, but led her to their compartment, closing the door behind them. He put their luggage away, and collapsed on the bench and crossed his arms, looking silently out the window.

Michaela didn't know what to do. Finally, she sat down across from him, watching him. She couldn't remember seeing him like this before, and wasn't sure how to respond.

"Sully—" she whispered. "Is everything—"

"Everything's fine." He looked up at her defiantly, finding her gaze steady, but veiled.

* * *

Hours later, the day had passed in relative silence. Michaela sat with a medical journal all but forgotten in her lap, her gaze directed out the window at the passing landscape. With effort, she put on a calm mask. She was worried, unsure what had upset Sully so, unsure how to ease his frustration. She was trying to wait him out, to let him talk when he was ready, but how long would his silence persist?

Sully glanced across at her guiltily. She had been patient, not pushing him to tell her what was wrong. But he didn't know how to tell her. James had promised him a sleeping car, but when the tickets came, they were for his usual compartment, outfitted with a single bed. He had tried to transfer his reservation at the ticket counter, but there was nothing they could do; the train was booked.

His eyes traveled from her lap to her slender torso, tiny buttons ascending in a neat row over the gentle swell of her form. The smooth, slender column of her neck rising gracefully from her collar, her delicate profile awash in the golden twilight. Try as he might, he couldn't help but be stirred by her, and nights were the worst. His dreams and longings for her were often overwhelming, and while in his mind he knew they weren't yet ready for more, he often had difficulty managing his physical response to her. He pressed his eyes closed. He didn't know which would be worse, for her to feel his arousal, or see it. He didn't want her to misinterpret him, and that would make it unavoidable. He just wasn't ready for this. He wasn't prepared.

He was the one who had suggested they sleep separately, out of respect for her and to guard the sanctity of their growing relationship. He had hoped to maintain that until they were ready for the intimacy loving couples shared in bed together. Practically, he hadn't been sure how to preserve such an ideal in Colorado, but he had been prepared to try, hadn't been prepared to give up so soon.

* * *

Returning to their compartment after supper, Sully opened the door for Michaela and nearly collided with her as she paused in the doorway, grasping her shoulders to steady them both. The porter had pulled out and made up the bed while they were away in the dining car.

Michaela stepped further into the compartment, easing her skirts around the bed. It wasn't particularly large, but neither was the compartment, and there was little space left to maneuver about. Hearing Sully release a restrained sigh, she turned back toward him.

He closed the door quietly, reluctantly meeting her eyes. The questions he found there struck his guilty conscience, and he dropped onto the edge of the bed in self-defeat.

Michaela watched him for a moment, realization finally dawning on her as he sat so tensely on their bed. "Sully? Is this it? Is this what you've been stewing over all day?"

"I wasn't stewin'," he defended.

"You've been quiet. Withdrawn," she reasoned.

He sighed. "I planned for us to sleep apart until we were ready to be together. Easier that way."

"It seems Colorado has changed many of our plans," she observed, eyeing him meaningfully. He met her gaze ruefully, and looked away.

She sighed. "Perhaps it would be simpler if we remained apart at night. But Sully, perhaps it will be nice to talk together before we sleep as we once did… to be—to grow closer…" She whispered the last almost inaudibly, blushing as her eyes fell to her lap.

"You looked worried, just now when we came in."

"Oh, Sully. No, I wasn't worried. I was surprised they'd made the bed up so early; it can't be more than half past seven," she observed.

She felt his hand cup her face gently, his fingers brushing over her ear. She looked up at him tentatively, finding his eyes soft, compassionate. Slowly, he leaned forward to kiss her, his lips meeting her tenderly, with so much feeling. He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers for a long moment. Taking a fortifying breath, he met her eyes steadily.

"Michaela… You know I want that too," he said, watching confusion fill her eyes once more. "I want us to be closer too," he clarified, sending butterflied fluttering through her body. She smiled weakly, her eyes caught between his own. "I want to be with you, Michaela. And I know we're not ready for that yet. But I'm scared to hurt you. I don't want to push you… scare you."

"I know. I know you don't. But Sully, I love you. I trust you implicitly. You're the most caring, honorable man I know."

"There's more to it than that," he whispered, thinking of the difficulty he had controlling his physical response to her.

"What? What more?" she pressed, covering his hand with her own.

He shook his head, not sure how to explain without saying too much, without divulging more than she was ready to hear.

"Sully, you can tell me. We've always been able to tell each other everything," she pressed.

He smiled woodenly, and squeezed her shoulder. "You go on and get ready for bed," he said, standing up and pulling down her traveling case. "I'll go get us some tea."

The door closed and Michaela sighed, hurt by his evasiveness. Distractedly, she unbuttoned her jacket, removing her clothing piece by piece. She hurried, aware that he might return before she was again dressed. She was placing the last of her traveling clothes in the case, resolved once more to trust him to speak to her when he thought it appropriate, when Sully knocked, and she called him in.

Her back was to him, her hair still wound into the neat, elegant arrangement on her head. He placed the tray on the inset shelf next to the door, and pulled down his own suitcase.

"Don't look," he warned with mock seriousness when she began to turn around. He changed quickly as Michaela closed her traveling case, peered shortly through the closed curtains, and sat on the edge of the bed, turned toward the window, as she began to pull out her hairpins. He could tell she was upset by his silence.

Silently, he sat down behind her, and covered her hands with his own.

"Here, let me," he coaxed gently.

She lowered her hands, his touch soon making her forget her frustration. With all the pins free, he combed through her hair with his fingers. She closed her eyes, her head falling back under his gentle touch.

"The first time I saw you," he murmured low, "I thought you had the most beautiful, long brown hair I'd ever seen."

She rolled her eyes a little, smiling. "We were so young…" she protested.

"Your hair was all fallin' down your back, curls comin' loose. The way the sun was shinin' on it – looked like copper."

Tentatively, he kissed her shoulder through her nightgown, and when she only closed her eyes, biting her lip, he buried his nose in the hair behind her ear, breathing in the fresh, sweet scent she'd always carried. Subtly, she leaned back into him, and he touched the corner of her jaw, pulling her into a soft kiss.

Gradually, the kiss grew, and he scooted farther onto the bed so he could draw her closer. They hadn't kissed like this in the weeks since he'd found her in her calico dress, and as their breaths mingled in a soft caress, the intensity of emotion in their kiss swelled thick in his chest. Sighing, he framed her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the corners of her mouth as he reluctantly pulled away.

"We should get some sleep," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, knowing they needed to stop more than they needed to sleep.

Settled under the covers, she turned toward him, lying on her side, her hands under her cheek.

"Tell me about Colorado," she whispered. "About the people there."

He smiled, turning on his side to face her. "First person you're gonna meet is Charlotte Cooper…"


	39. Chapter 38

This chapter has been written for months, but, oh, have I agonized over it the last two weeks! Finally, I decided I needed to put it out of my mind for a few days, and when I came back to it tonight, it felt much more publishable. Thanks for hanging in there!

* * *

Chapter 38

Michaela discreetly rubbed her feet together. They were cold. She thought again of the thick wool stockings tucked away in her trunk, somewhere in the luggage car of the train. She lay on her side in the dark, her mind swimming with mental images of the townspeople Sully had described to her, wondering whether they would accept her, whether they would become her friends. She had never truly befriended anyone other than Sully, and perhaps Jane, but something about the intimacy of the small town of Colorado Springs made her feel as if such a thing were possible. Distractedly, she tried to control the swaying of her body with the movements of the train, conscious of Sully's form behind her.

She let out a slow, silent breath. She wouldn't be able to sleep until at least her feet grew warmer, but she couldn't see that happening soon, as cold as the compartment was. She focused on Sully behind her, and found herself unable to hear his breathing. He must still be awake, as she was. She didn't dare move. She focused on her own breathing, trying to make it slow and even. Perhaps that would help her sleep.

Sully stared at the back of her head, her hair dark and glossy in the moonlight slipping through the curtains of their compartment. She was tensed against the rocking of the train, he could tell, not relaxed as she should be in sleep. He knew she was likely uncomfortable in the cool air of the compartment. He was more used to the cold, having often slept outside when he was traveling in the field, though he was used to the warm blaze of an open fire warming one side of him. He felt the sheets shift a little at his feet as she moved her own. She was definitely awake.

"You awake?" he whispered. She sheets stopped moving, and he felt her tense.

"Yes," she whispered after a moment..

"Cold?"

Slowly, she turned her head to peer into the darkness behind her, seeking out the shadowy lines of Sully's face as he watched her.

"Yes," she admitted. "Are you?"

"Come 'ere," he whispered, reaching for her. He pulled her into his arms, spooning her against his chest. He felt her cold heels against his shins, and did his best to wrap his legs around her feet. She was freezing.

"Oh. You—you don't have to…"

He ignored her, rubbing her arm briskly. "…Compartments get cold at night, this time of year. We'll see about some extra blankets tomorrow."

She relaxed a little, his warmth already seeping into her, their bodies steadying one another against the constant rocking of the train.

"Thank you, Sully," she whispered.

"Shhh," he whispered. "Sleep."

In his arms, the trains rhythmic movements were soothing rather than jarring, and soon, she was lulled into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

Michaela woke as the first rays of sunlight broke through the cracks in the curtains, bathing the compartment in soft, bright sunlight. Sully's forehead lay heavily against the base of her neck, his breath warming her back through the fine lawn of her nightdress. She tried to stretch a little, but found his arm was wound around her waist, his legs still spooned to hers. She felt warm, and suddenly, a little too warm. Was this how it would be for them, someday? Or, perhaps, from now on? She felt both secure and strangely energized and also nervous, lying with him like this, his weight and heat clear reminders of the growing intimacy of their relationship.

He groaned a little in his sleep, drawing his hand over her stomach to brace it on her hip as he pulled his head back onto his pillow. She pressed her eyes closed and bit her lip, remaining still. Never had he touched her below her waist before, and she flushed hot as her heart raced, waiting for him to wake up. He rolled to his back with a huff, releasing her and stretching his free arm above his head.

Michaela turned a little, looking back at him over her shoulder. He smiled groggily, raising one knee modestly.

"Mornin'," he murmured sleepily.

"Good morning," she returned, lifting her head to let him retrieve his other arm. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," he smiled. "You?"

"Very well, thank you," she breathed, stretching her legs, pointing her toes under the covers. Shoulder to shoulder, they spanned the width of the bed almost completely.

Michaela sat up, reaching for her robe. Sully climbed out behind her, quickly pulling out his clothes as she watched him absently.

"I'll get dressed real quick and go get us a breakfast tray while you get dressed." He twirled his finger at her, indicating she turn around. "Don't look," he admonished her, grinning.

She spun around blushing, rolling her eyes and giggling as he quickly disappeared from the compartment.

* * *

"Sully, this is…" Michaela murmured in wonder, looking around the room as the bellhop set down their luggage and closed the door behind them.

"Best hotel in Denver," he said, shucking his jacket and tie, and loosening his shirt. "Last chance for indoor plumbing for a while. Thought you might appreciate it," he whispered pointedly as he came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders and kissing her temple.

The couple had sat next to one another for the remainder of their journey, watching the landscape change, talking about what they might encounter in Colorado Springs, and deliberating Michaela's first steps toward establishing a practice there. At night, they snuggled close, having lost out on an additional blanket; apparently everyone was cold.

Their arrival in Denver was welcome, and the pair relished the opportunity to take a long walk and exercise their limbs. St. Louis had provided only a brief reprieve, but with Denver their last stop before they boarded the stage to Colorado Springs, they had an entire afternoon to spend as they wished.

Though Denver was busy, it was distinctly different from Boston. Boarded sidewalks lifted pedestrians' feet from dirt streets, and wooden balconies and awnings shaded passersby as they stopped outside brick or wood-framed shops, services, cafes, and saloons, few of them taller than two stories high.

* * *

Michaela sank into the hot, rose-scented bathwater, her hands gliding along the rim of the large copper tub. The water was a welcome relief from the cool air of the washroom, blushingly reminiscent of the warmth of Sully's embrace the last several nights in the chilled train compartment.

She submerged herself, and sat up on her knees to wash her hair, impressed by the hotel's expensive display of shampoos and soaps. Using a pitcher to rinse her hair, she reveled in the luxury of this bath, anticipating several months of sponge baths to follow.

Rising from the water only when it began to cool, she reached for a thick, warm towel, stepping carefully from the tub. She toweled dry, catching a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror across the room. She bit her lip, turning to face the mirror, and let the towel fall to her feet. More and more she thought about what it might be like to come together with Sully, how it would feel, how it would work. Familiar with the physiological mechanics because of her profession, she couldn't imagine how it wouldn't be awkward, a strange conclusion to these romantic months of their courtship.

She examined herself in the mirror, her slender frame less voluptuous than the more shapely women in the fashion plates. Would Sully find her as appealing unclothed as he seemed to now? Would she appreciate his body? Despite the way his kiss and touch often stirred her, she couldn't imagine how such feelings could continue despite the awkwardness of their nudity, of navigating the mechanics and possible discomfort of their union.

Feeling anxiety rise in her chest in response to her thoughts, she turned from her reflection to find her nightgown and robe. It wouldn't do to grow anxious about it now, when she was about to retire to the large, plush, four poster bed at his side; he would surely discern her discomfort.

Brush in hand, she entered the bedroom, intent on brushing out her hair before the fire so it might dry before she went to sleep.

She paused when she found Sully adjusting his frame on the chaise lounge below the picture window, dressed in his pajamas, a thin blanket covering his body.

"Sully? You don't have to sleep there."

"We're gonna be sharing from here on out. Just thought I'd let you have your space one last night."

"There's plenty of space, even with you in the bed. You'll be terribly sore in the morning sleeping like that," she persisted.

"I'll be fine. You go on, enjoy that bed," he said with gentle finality.

Shaking her head, she sat before the fire, silently pulling the brush through her hair. He furrowed his brow, watching her. With a long stage coach ride and months in a small town looming before them, he was nervous about how she would fare. Though her appearance was so refined, so delicate, so ethereal, her inner strength, he knew, was vibrant and powerful, and he knew also that she held no judgment for people unlike her, that she would be undaunted and unphased by their new, rustic surroundings. But she might miss Boston, too, her family, the ease of their lives there. And more, her practice, the resources available to her as a physician, the patients, though modest in number, who trusted her. He was worried she might be a little too relieved to return to Boston, and that fear made him realize he'd never really given up the dream of staying out here for the rest of his days.

Thoughts spiraling as he watched her glowing form before the fire, he drifted restlessly into sleep.

* * *

Sully stood in the middle of a lush meadow bordered by oak and aspen. As he so often imagined her, Michaela emerged from the trees, her eyes reflecting their tones as brightly as ever. She was wearing her nightgown, and she looked as she had that night they were seventeen, so young and vulnerable and innocent, reluctant to say goodbye. As she approached him, her nightgown transformed into her wedding dress, her features becoming more refined, more delicate, as they were now. His breath hitched, seeing her again clothed in the elaborate silk and lace gown, not having allowed himself to be taken with her on their wedding day. Her hands rose to comb through his hair when she reached him, her lips whispering past his as she embraced him. He pulled her close, savoring the feel of her in his arms, the silkiness of her hair beneath his fingers, her powdery soft cheek against his ear.

And then they were tumbling, rolling weightlessly, their bodies pressed together in the long, flowering grass. Her kiss was deep and sweet as he caressed her face, his hand trailing down her side as he found she wore only her nightgown once more, and pulled her closer. Rising above him on her elbow, she traced his jaw lightly with her index finger, her eyes at once expressive and unreadable. He lifted himself up again to claim her lips, but she rose without a word, walking toward the line of trees at the edge of the meadow. He ached in her absence, feeling both cold and hot at once, and desperately empty. Frozen in place, he could only watch as she glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his for a lingering moment, and then she vanished before his eyes.

"Michaela!" he shouted, panic-stricken, bolting upright on the chaise, his clothes damp with sweat, legs tangled in the blanket. She'd left him. Gone home.

And then she was at his side, taking his hand and smoothing his hair from his brow.

"Sully? I'm here," she whispered, brow creased in concern.

He grasped her hands desperately in his, searching her eyes, his fingers falling over her face as if he were blind.

"It's you? You're really here?" She nodded as he clutched her hands to his chest. "You're not leaving? Going back?"

"No," she assured him breathlessly, startled by his confusion.

"I don't want you to leave. I want to be with you. I need to be with you…"

"Sully," she gasped, moved, quivering at the intimacy implicit in his words.

"…I will love you all of my days," he continued without pause, his voice low as his eyes focused on hers. He looked down, and she remained silent as she watched him gather his thoughts. "I've been thinkin' for a while, if we weren't already married, I'd be proposing to you."

"Sully," she whispered, taken aback by this unexpected conversation.

"Michaela," he whispered, gazing at her reverently. "I want us to be closer, to take another step. And I wanna do this right this time; no conditions." He paused, seeing tears form in her eyes. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she breathed without hesitation.

His parted lips met hers, stealing her breath. His tongue caressed her bottom lip as he pulled her against him, eliciting a gasp from her in response. His tongue met hers in a sweet caress, passion flaring in their veins. Never had they kissed so deeply before, and she felt weak with the intensity of it, leaning into him. His heart pounding, he pulled her down onto his chest as he fell back, turning to lay her next to him as their passionate kiss slowed its pace. The slow caress of his mouth over hers only increased the intensity of sensations flowing through her, and feeling limp with pleasure, Michaela clung to the lapels of his night shirt. Slowly, after some time, he pulled away, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and the soft skin beneath her ear, his fingers following his lips.

He gazed at her tenderly, watching as her eyes fluttered open in the absence of his touch, wide with wonder. Her body still hummed from his touch, and she longed to continue their kiss, though she didn't dare initiate such a thing. He smiled softly, and caressed her lips, wanting to pull her closer still, but painfully aware of his arousal. Putting his finger before him as a sign to wait, he rose from the chaise, retrieving something from his satchel. He sat next to her on the chaise, offering her the small box.

"I didn't want to get you another ring – might be too obvious. I thought this you could wear everyday, and you could remember this step we took together."

"You prepared for this," she murmured in wonder.

He nodded. "I thought I was going to wait 'til we got to Colorado Springs, but… Go on, open it."

She opened the velvet box to reveal an intricate ladies pocket watch, the front of which was fitted with a lovely cameo. When she opened it, she found an engraving opposite the ivory watchface. Holding it up to the moonlight, she read softly:

"For my Heartsong. For all time, Sully." She turned to him, tears in her eyes. "What does it mean?"

"Heartsong. It's Cheyenne. When I was tellin' the Medicine Man, Cloud Dancing, about you, he said you were my heartsong. It's like saying you are my heartbeat, like saying our hearts beat as one, together, and our lives are the song."

"That's so beautiful," she breathed.

"Yeah," he whispered, gazing at her.

"Thank you, Sully," she whispered. She leaned in, kissing him on the cheek. As she pulled away, he touched her jaw, and brought his lips to hers. He kissed her tenderly, the caress of his lips communicating all the love, the affection, the desire in his heart.

He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb, and she grinned self-consciously.

"We should get some rest," she suggested, stealing his words.

He chuckled under his breath. "Yeah," he murmured, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

She stood, holding her hand out to him, her eyes alight. "Join me?"


	40. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Michaela's head rocked side to side as the stagecoach rumbled over the prairie, her new watch pinned at her collar, the weight of it at her throat thrilling her for the meaning it held. They shared the coach with a kind elderly woman. They had talked together for a long while, but she had drifted off some time ago. Now, Michaela sat captivated by the rolling golden grasslands, connected to the endless sapphire sky by a toothy ridge of smoky blue mountains. Occasionally, crops of trees and bushes rose up in vivid shades of green. She couldn't believe the bright colors of the landscape in early spring.

Entranced by the scenery, she was at first only vaguely aware of Sully's fingers slowly entwining her own. But the gentleness of his touch woke her nerve endings, sending awareness of him skittering through her body. She closed her eyes, a secret smile upon her lips, remembering the previous night.

* * *

They had settled into the large bed side by side, both unsure now what each expected of the other. Gradually, she felt him reach for her hand as it lay over her stomach, clasping it warmly and drawing it to lie upon the sheets between them. She turned her head to look at him, her expression shy, and he lifted their joined hands to his lips, kissing her fingers softly. Her heart racing at his gentle touch, she had turned on her side, smiling at him, and he'd turned to face her. Slowly, she touched his brow, tracing the contours of his face in the moonlight, her feather light touch enflaming him. In turn, he framed her face in his free hand, brushing her lips with his thumb, his eyes never releasing hers as his gaze deepened in intensity.

Heat rising in her cheeks, she mustered the courage to touch his lips, full, soft, and warm. He kissed the pads of her fingers, sending her stomach to flutter wildly as his hand caressed her neck warmly, before trailing down her back to draw her closer. Her skin was hot beneath the fine lawn of her nightgown, her form smooth. Still clasping her hand, he lifted his head to kiss her, his lips lingering over hers as he kissed her softly, innocently, again and again, making her long to feel his deeper kiss once more, the achingly sweet caress of his tongue.

"Sully," she had whispered breathlessly, overcome with passion.

He pulled back, gazing into her eyes, his own midnight blue in the darkened room. "I love you," he whispered, and she felt the sincerity of his words in her very soul.

"And I you," she whispered meaningfully, her fingers reaching to comb his hair back from his face.

One corner of his mouth rose in a pleased smile, and he dipped his head to rest his lips on the bridge of her nose before he lay down again on his side, facing her. Squeezing her hand, he whispered his goodnight, and he closed his eyes, deliberately drawing a close to their movements.

Her eyes lingered on his face for some time, her mind going over everything that had happened this night, before she herself slipped into a contented sleep.

* * *

Now, she turned to meet his gaze, her eyes running over the sleeping older woman on the way. Finding his eyes trained intently on her lips before he raised them to meet her own, she blushed.

"How're you doing?" he asked, his eyes hanging upon her own.

"Fine," she said breathily. "The land is so beautiful."

He ran his eyes over her face, a slow grin forming upon his lips. "It is," he whispered.

If possible, her blush deepened. "Sully," she scolded softly.

Eyes twinkling, he leaned into her, his lips pressing warmly against the tender skin behind her ear.

"Esther," she whispered in warning even as her entire body responded to this intimate touch.

He pressed his lips softly a little lower on her neck, a first, causing her heart to rise in her throat. "She's sleeping," he murmured against her fragrant skin, his lips brushing her neck.

Instinctively she turned her head into him as his head remained buried against her neck. "She—" Michaela swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as he continued to press warm kisses to her neck. "She could wake at any moment," she persisted, her eyes fluttering closed as she fought her body's longing to press closer to his. She felt his nose nuzzle the corner of her jaw as he chuckled soundlessly, his warm breath causing goose bumps to wash over her skin.

He raised his head, his eyes warm and sensual as they regarded her flushed cheeks and flustered countenance. He raised his free hand to brush the backs of his fingers over her cheek, smiling softly. Then, accepting her reasoning, he sat up straight, lifting their joined hands to his lips to kiss her fingers, before settling them on the seat between them as the stagecoach rolled on.

Feeling warm despite the crisp Colorado air, Michaela felt lost in his touch. When they had first begun courting several months ago, she had been daunted by the notion of such intimacy. And had she known a kiss might involve tongues, she would have been repulsed at the thought. But last night… she had never felt so impassioned, so moved in all her life. Never would she have thought a single touch might awaken every nerve ending in her body. And she longed now to be close like that again, to show him, somehow, how he had made her feel, how she felt about him.

It occurred to her suddenly that that's what all this was – an expression of their love. Before, when they were children or even when they met again before they were married, she had often felt the impulse to hug him, to squeeze his hand or kiss his cheek. Of course she hadn't as a rule, knowing the boundaries within which society had placed her. But perhaps that's what had caused so much conflict, so much uncertainty in their friendship; they weren't able to express to one another, physically at least, their feelings, their devotion.

Warmth flared through her veins once more as she thought of the deep love Sully had conveyed to her last night through his touch, his kiss. The passion he expressed, was he so passionate about her? She fingered the watch at her throat. Heartsong. She felt her pulse quicken and her breathing become irregular as her thoughts merged with her feelings. Such deep, abiding passion, such pure, true love. Souls merging into one. She longed now for the time when they would be ready to bare all, to express their feelings with no boundaries in place, and reminded herself to enjoy the journey, and the anticipation she felt along the way.

* * *

The rumbling stagecoach could be heard before it was seen, and the town began to gather before the barber shop, eagerly anticipating the packages they'd ordered, mail from loved ones, news from Denver and back east, and interesting characters which might disembark from inside. Leaving Maude to tend the mercantile, Loren ambled over to offer his counter-support to the post Jake was holding up, and Hank swaggered over, casual interest masking his keen eye. Brian Cooper and several other children waited by the general store to run the last leg with the coach, betting candy to see who could outrun the horses. Abigail Bray paused in her arrangement of apples on the porch, as ever secretly hoping the handsome government negotiator, Mr. Sully, might return from the East, since new conflicts were being stirred up every day.

She watched anxiously as the stagecoach rolled to a stop, and the drivers swung around to throw packages and trunks down from the roof. Her mouth dropped open when Mr. Sully did in fact jump down, as handsome as ever. Her heart raced. Would he notice her? Unconsciously, she ran a hand over her dark curls, wondering if the blue of her dress would stand out enough to draw his eye. She watched as he turned to help an elderly woman step down from the coach. That was old Widow Nelson, probably back from that doctor she was seeing in Denver, poor thing. She smiled to herself; he was such a gentleman. Oh, to have a husband so thoughtful… Seeing her safely to the ground, he turned back to hold out his hand for another passenger, and a small, gloved hand reached out to accept his.

A slender, refined young woman stepped down from the coach, wearing a lavender tapestry traveling suit the likes of which she had never seen in person. She wore a smart wool hat in her shimmering auburn upswept hair, accented tastefully with ribbons and flowers. Her own curly hair, probably frazzled by this point in the day, seemed drab in comparison. She carried what looked to be a doctor's bag, a strange purse for such a refined lady. She couldn't really make out her face from here but she exuded beauty and confidence, and Abby wondered if she were traveling with Mr. Sully. She heard Hank whistle appreciatively, but the woman seemed to ignore him after a brief glance in his direction. Abigail's heart dropped to her toes, though, when Mr. Sully touched her low on her back, guiding her around the mud puddles to step onto the planked sidewalk before returning for his luggage. That was too many trunks for one man, and she had noticed last time that he traveled light to boot.

The lady began to pick up a carpetbag, but Mr. Sully took it from her, wedging it under his arm as he picked up more, and led her down to the boarding house. Heart pounding, Abby turned back to the apples, her mind spinning. Maybe he was just being a gentleman. If he met her on the stagecoach, obviously he would have talked to her and known she would need to stay at the boarding house. Besides, wouldn't he stay in her pa's old homestead like he had last time? Yes, that had to be it, she tried to convince herself, he was being a gentleman.

But what would she be doing here all alone? People like her didn't just show up in small towns this far out, especially women. If she wasn't with him, what was she doing? Maybe she was a midwife, a friend of Widow Cooper's. That would explain the funny bag she was carrying. But Charlotte hadn't come out to meet her, and besides, she had never seen or heard of midwives visiting each other like that. No, she had to be with Mr. Sully. And then what? Was he married? She had never heard him mention such a thing, but she'd never actually talked to him either, just stood near the counter when he'd come into the store several times.

But the way he would nod at her, sometimes used her name in greeting, the way he smiled, he made her feel special. She'd spent so many nights convincing herself he was secretly in love with her, that he would come back and sweep her off her feet, that she was now having a hard time figuring out what was reasonable and what wasn't. Sighing heavily, she realized she had rearranged the apples several times now, and went inside to see if her ma needed anything else.

* * *

"Charlotte," Sully greeted.

"Why, Sully, it's good to see ya agin," she greeted him warmly.

"It's good to be back," he grinned. Charlotte turned to smile kindly at his companion. "Charlotte Cooper, this is my wife, Dr. Michaela Quinn," Sully introduced, bringing his hand around to settle on her lower back.

"My friends call me Mike," she interjected impulsively, smiling as she offered her hand.

Charlotte shifted the squawking chicken under her left arm and took Michaela's hand. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet ya, Dr. Mike."

"You a real doctor?" A little boy peeked out from behind Charlotte's skirts, his expression full of innocent curiosity.

Michaela kneeled down to meet his gaze. "A real doctor. And you must be Brian," she said, her smile warm as she touched his nose.

"My youngest," Charlotte added. "And this here's Colleen," she hugged the pretty, wide-eyed young girl's shoulder, "and that there's Matthew, my oldest," she said, indicating the somewhat stunned-looking older boy standing in the doorway behind Michaela and Sully. "Why don't y'all come in, take a load off. I got my best room open; Matthew'll help get your things upstairs. Y'all can get freshened up before supper."

"Ya went to college and everything?" Colleen asked as the troupe entered the guest room.

Sully chuckled to himself, feeling pride swell in his chest as the young girl stared at Michaela in open admiration.

Michaela smiled indulgently. "And everything," she replied simply, before turning herself around in the cheerful whitewashed room as the men deposited their trunks along the wall.

"It ain't much, but it's clean," Charlotte commented, knowing it didn't compare to Boston.

"It's lovely," Michaela said sincerely, charmed by the colorful patchwork quilt and the room's generally sunny disposition.

"Well, come on kids, let's leave these two to get freshened up," Charlotte instructed, ushering them out. "Supper's at six," she reminded as she closed the door behind her.

Michaela eagerly opened her trunk, pulling out a blue calico dress. Slipping behind the screen set up near the bed, she quickly released herself from her travelling dress and corset and slipped into the calico, feeling a little giddy and more at ease in the simpler dress.

Sully watched garment after garment appear on top of the screen as he washed his face at the basin, letting his imagination wander to what she might look like as she undressed, small, nimble fingers undoing buttons and hooks, the close fit of her camisole over her figure, her slender arms and shoulders bared. Would her things be silky, or lacey, or plain? He imagined how the soft fabric, warmed by her skin, would feel under his palms as he caressed her back, her sides. Shaking his head to rid the thoughts before he got carried away, he changed quickly into a fresh suit, loathe to leave Michaela so soon. He knew she could more than fend for herself, but he would prefer to put off government business until morning, simply so he could be with her a little longer.

Momentarily she emerged, looking quite proud of herself in her new dress. He smiled, moving toward her to slip his arms about her waist, pulling her close to him, noticing immediately the absence of the rigid corset. "You look perfect. Beautiful," he whispered in her ear, pressing a light kiss to the lobe as he rubbed her back. She smiled shyly, and noticed his fresh suit, raising questioning eyes to his.

"I gotta get over to the meadow. Army's set up over there, they wanna start talks in the morning, and I need to see what's going on so I can be ready." She nodded, her eyes falling in disappointment. "I probably won't make supper," he said apologetically.

"That's alright," she offered. "We're here for your work, we knew it would be your first priority."

"You're my first priority," he corrected, cupping her cheek. "Just gotta bend to the tyranny of the urgent right now." He kissed her softly, tracing his thumb over her lips longingly. "I'm gonna miss ya. Last few weeks have been almost like another honeymoon, bein' together all the time."

She blushed, quite lost in his sultry gaze. "Almost," she breathed, her mind looking forward to unknown intimacies.

"Almost," he repeated, his thoughts matching hers. Unable to resist, he kissed her again, his lips parting slightly to slowly, sensually capture hers.

* * *

The pair descended into the kitchen, the smell of biscuit dough, coffee, and fresh vegetables filling the room. Charlotte stood at the counter, efficiently cutting biscuits and dropping them onto a pan for the oven. She turned when she heard them enter, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Got fresh coffee on the stove. Help yourselves."

Discreetly squeezing Michaela about the waist, Sully cleared his throat regretfully. "Thanks, but I gotta get over to the meadow. See what the army's thinking about the mornin'. I'll see y'all later tonight," he promised. Michaela couldn't help but notice how completely relaxed his speech was, as if merely being here made him completely at ease. He kissed Michaela's temple and met her eyes once more before stepping out onto the porch.

"Busy man," Charlotte commented. "Never sits still much, far as I can tell."

"No…" Michaela murmured, staring at the closed door.

Charlotte eyed her. "You two been married long?"

"Hm? Oh, almost a year, I suppose." She sat at the kitchen table as Charlotte handed her a cup of coffee.

"Newlyweds. I thought so."

"You did? Why?"

"The way ya look at each other." Charlotte raised her eyebrows frankly as she worked. "Don't usually last long."

Michaela blushed, looking interestedly into her cup. "Oh," was all she could think to say. She watched Charlotte begin to dip piece of chicken in a bowl of flour. "Can I help with anything?"

"You just sit and rest. I'll cook." Glancing over, she noticed Michaela's restlessness. "Not used to sittin' still yourself, are ya? Why don't ya tell me all about Boston."

* * *

Michaela lay in bed, her eyes transfixed upon the squares of moonlight falling over the bed, the quilt smooth beside her, where Sully should be. He still wasn't back from the meadow, as his debrief seemed to be lasting long into the night. She hoped that didn't bode ill for the peace talks that were scheduled to begin in the morning.

Thankfully, Charlotte had given her warm bricks to tuck in the foot of the bed, and she pressed her toes against the flannel that covered it, realizing she'd already begun to take for granted the warmth Sully's body contributed on these chilly spring evenings.

She thought back over the events of the afternoon, the time she spent getting to know Charlotte and the children, her own fumbling attempts to help prepare supper, the warm, hearty food. She was surprised by how readily Charlotte and especially Brian embraced her, never questioning her decision to choose a profession, no less a traditionally male profession.

She had talked with Charlotte long into the evening as they waited for Sully, and now she lay in bed, still waiting. She wondered if she should be worried, or if this was normal. Sully hadn't really indicated how long he might be gone, but it was easy to conceive that he wouldn't be able to predict that for sure. Would this be how she spent her evenings and the long Colorado nights which followed?

Without warning, the door creaked open, and he entered quietly. She sat up, trying to make out his form in the dark.

"Sully?" she whispered loudly.

He proceeded to his trunk as if he hadn't heard her, pulling out his pajamas. Earlier, she had considered putting his things away, but decided against it, feeling it might still be too personal at this point in their relationship, knowing she might encounter his underthings.

"Sully?" she murmured, using her voice this time.

He spun around, his shirt half unbuttoned. His eyes were dark, unreadable, in the darkened room.

"You should be asleep," he scolded tiredly.

She ignored this, concerned only for him. "How did everything go?"

He shook his head, moving behind the screen to shed his clothes.

"There's a lot of holes in the story the army's givin' me. Bands of dog soldiers – renegades – been burnin' homesteads a ways out. Army claims it's for no reason. Indians don't fight just to fight. They fight for payback. Town's in an uproar. Army's ready to catch 'em and hang 'em for murder."

"Without a trial?"

He emerged from behind the screen, buttoning the last two buttons on his shirt. "They don't usually bother puttin' Indians on trial."

"Is there anything you can do?"

He stopped in front of the window, staring blankly out. "I don't know. I gotta go out to the reservation at dawn. See if they'll talk to me. There's rumors of the railroad comin' to town too; Indians ain't gonna like that," he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed across from her.

"Why? Does it go through their land?"

"They don't claim to own the land like white men do. All they want is to be able to hunt buffalo, deer, bear. Keep up their traditions. But buffalo don't cross railroad tracks, and the railroad kills off buffalo, too." He flopped back, staring intently at the ceiling. "Won't be any left for the Cheyenne."

"What does the army want?"

"Want the Indians dead. Might not always say it like that, but they'd rather eliminate 'em than live with 'em." He sighed in frustration. "I got 'em to postpone the talks for another day; give me time to talk to the Cheyenne tomorrow."

"Good. That sounds good," she breathed hopefully, feeling overwhelmed by the weight he carried.

He turned on his side, away from her. "'Night Michaela."

Softly, she touched his back, her heart aching for him, knowing he was shouldering this burden alone. She wished she could bridge the distance she felt between them, comfort him, help him.

"Goodnight," she whispered softly.


	41. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Michaela woke gradually, the guest room cast in a soft glow. Sully had placed a lamp on the floor at the foot of the bed, turned down low to give him just enough light to find his things. He stood with his back to her, clad only in buckskin leather pants she'd never seen before as he prepared to put on his shirt. His back was broad and tan and muscular, so much different than the thin little boy she swam with when she was twelve years old. Snuggled warmly under the covers, it didn't occur to her that she should look away, that he might catch her looking.

Sully shrugged into his shirt, a soft, billowy shirt quite unlike the crisp, starched ones she knew so well. Tucking it in, he turned a little and caught her eye. Her eyes were wide and dark and innocent in the dim light, and she barely responded when he smiled a little, coming to sit next to her on the bed.

"Hey," he whispered, stroking her arm lightly as he watched her eyes come into focus.

She forced a small, crooked smile, remembering the distance she'd felt from him last night. "What time is it?"

"'Bout five. Sorry I woke ya."

She pulled herself up, settling against the headboard and folding her hands in her lap. "You'll be careful?"

"I'm always careful," he assured her, but his statement sounded almost flippant to her as an anxiety she didn't understand rose thick in her chest.

"Sully, please. I…"

He covered her hand with his. "I'll be careful. I don't want you worryin' 'bout me."

She was looking at a man she'd never seen before, his clothing transforming him into something new and different. It fit him, but the change startled her, made her feel as if she didn't know him. Desperately, she focused on his eyes, watching as duty and determination receded to be replaced by the familiar warmth and tenderness she knew so well. Lost in the blue depths of his gaze, she touched his jaw, and an overwhelming sense of foreboding drove her into his arms as she kissed him desperately.

Surprised, it was a moment before he responded, pulling her into his lap and holding her close as he impulsively deepened the kiss, the warmth and taste and feel of him bringing tears to her eyes as she wished she would never have to leave this moment. He stroked her hair, another hand running down her side and back up to her shoulder, nearly becoming lost in her, her sweetness, her softness, her desperate passion. Gradually, though, sense or perhaps duty took over, and he pulled back gently, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Michaela," he whispered hoarsely, struggling to regain his composure.

She clutched his shirt tighter in her hands, committing the warmth and strength of his chest to memory.

"I love you so much, Sully," she whispered tearfully, pressing her face into the warm, smooth skin of his neck.

"I love you, more'n you know," he murmured, raising her chin to kiss her again softly. He framed her face in his hands, stroking her cheek with the pad his thumb a moment, wondering why this all felt so desperate.

"I gotta go," he whispered softly, gently moving her back onto the bed. "I probably won't be back 'til late again."

Michaela nodded, her eyes falling to her hands, embarrassed by her behavior. Resolutely he took a step toward the door, and turned back, compassion filling him as he looked at her. Unable to resist, he went back and gathered her in his arms, pulling her out of the bed to hug her close. He cupped the back of her head to hold her close, and kissed her cheek, her hair.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispered. "The Cheyenne know me, trust me. I just gotta talk to 'em, find out their position. Assure 'em I'm here to help. They won't let the dog soldiers hurt me."

She nodded against him, her tears wetting his shirt.

"Michaela," he whispered, urging her to look up at him. The look in her eyes rendered him speechless. He released a slow, shaky breath, lowering his lips to hers. He kissed her slowly, deeply, tenderly, reiterating his the depth of his love for her, his devotion, how much he cared, wanted her. "I promise," he whispered, his own eyes glazing with tears, shouldering her concern.

She bit her lip, nodding as she backed away, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold room.

* * *

Unable to sleep again, Michaela crawled out of bed at the first light of dawn, dressing quickly before heading down to the kitchen. Within two hours, she found herself sandwiched on a wagon bench between Charlotte and Abby on the way to Loren's old homestead, which he'd reluctantly agreed to let to the female doctor only because Sully had been such a good tenant last time. Charlotte had noticed Michaela's upset, hovering just below her composed veneer, and insisted they set up house, something to distract her from wondering about Sully. Abby joined them at Charlotte's invitation, as eager to be involved in Sully's life as she was reluctant, now that it was clear he was married.

They pulled the loaded wagon up in front of the little cabin, Michaela quite effectively hiding her surprise at its simplicity and state of disrepair, though she'd tried to prepare herself. The day was sunny if not cold, and she noted not for the first time how clear and fresh the air was here, and it gave her a sense of buoyant hope as they began their day.

Within a couple of hours, Charlotte had the chickens settled in the coop and was washing and hanging out the linens to dry. Inside, Abby showed Michaela how to sweep up the several layers of Colorado dust that had settled on the floor, and cleaned all the surfaces and windows with a strong solution of vinegar water.

Now, Abby sat teaching Michaela how to make cornbread, while Charlotte shelled beans outside.

"That's right. Two scant cups o' flour, just like that. Good," Abby encouraged as Michaela dumped flour in a bowl..

"And one cup of cornmeal," Michaela added triumphantly. "Abby, I can't thank you enough for this. You've been so patient with me."

"Well I'm happy t' help. 'Sides, you spent your whole life learnin' how t' doctor, s'pose that don't leave much time f'r housework. Yep, just crack the eggs like this, that's right," she guided as they talked.

"I wish that were true. The truth is, we had servants," she admitted. "I'm afraid my family didn't place much value on self-sufficiency."

"Well, you're learnin' fast," Abby said with a sincere smile. They worked together a while more, sliding the pan into the oven. Charlotte came in with the beans and some peeled potatoes and carrots, setting them on the stove to boil.

"We're gonna have to get you two a garden set up. Lots of vegetables 'll do ya good," the older woman stated. "Don't know what Sully ate last time he was here, 'cept he was in my kitchen quite a bit as I recall," she said with a wry smile.

"I'm sure he did better than you think," Michaela observed good naturedly. "Sully's parents taught him everything about caring for a home and farm, as well as for others."

"Did you two meet back east?" Abby asked, unable to contain her curiosity now that someone else had brought up the subject of Sully.

"Yes, in Boston. I was playing tag with Martha, my mother's chambermaid, and climbed an old tree only to find Sully already there, perched high in the branches. We were eleven years old."

Charlotte smiled over the pot of vegetables, imagining her two friends as children.

"Then you've been in love since you were just kids?" Abby asked dreamily, her chin resting on her hands as she sat at the table.

Michaela smiled bashfully, a little uncomfortable talking about such things with others. "No, but have been close friends since then. Our parents allowed us to write to one another, and we spent several summers in each other's company." Briefly she tried to imagine what it might have been to feel such things for Sully back then. Would they have snuck kisses when they were alone, held each other?

"Well, it's sweet just the same. Fallin' in love with your best friend—"

"Abby, child, best be checkin' on this cornbread. Stop pesterin' Dr. Mike with so many questions," Charlotte said playfully, giving Michaela a sympathetic look. She had seen the way Abby blushed and went quiet when Sully came into the mercantile last time he was in town, and suspected she was, innocently enough, living out her adolescent dreams vicariously through Michaela.

Michaela followed Abby to the stove, watching how she thumped the top of the golden-brown loaf with her finger before pulling it out.

"Well, it ain't much, but we got us some boiled vegetables and cornbread for lunch. Coffee's ready too, I think. Shall we?" Charlotte invited, placing everything on the table.

* * *

After supper, Brian and Matthew played checkers while Colleen read a book, and the women washed the dishes. The other boarders, mostly army men, retired to their rooms or to the porch, to smoke. After a time, Charlotte sent the children to bed, and the women settled before the fire with cups of tea.

"Sorry about Abby," Charlotte began seemingly out of nowhere. "That girl's a dreamer. She's got a dozen boys here in town yappin' at her heels and can't help but look for somethin' out of a romance novel."

Michaela smiled. "She seems sweet. It was kind of her to offer her help today."

"That it was. She has a good heart." Charlotte studied her a moment over the rim of her teacup. "You're worried about him ain't ya?"

Michaela dropped her eyes to her lap self-consciously.

"He's been known to spend the night at the reservation now and again. No use worryin' yourself over it," Charlotte advised matter-of-factly.

"He said he'd be back tonight," Michaela murmured, raising worried eyes to the flames.

"Might be he thought he would. The way I understand it, Cheyenne don't run on a white man's schedule."

"I'm sure that's true," she acquiesced. Still, she couldn't shake the fear that had consumed her that morning, nor the feel of his mouth, his arms, his hands, his chest. It was all burned in her memory, on her skin, in a way it never had been before, had stayed with her all day, and that in itself frightened her. Taking a deep breath, she strove to release the pressure in her chest. "What happened to your husband, Charlotte? How did he die?"

Charlotte smiled wryly. "Hm. He didn't. He's alive an' kickin', far as I know."

"But they call you Widow Cooper."

"That's just the townsfolks' way of bein' polite." She shook her head. "My husband and I, we had a farm near Topeka. Took us four years to make a go of it, then one day he up and sold it. Didn't even ask me. Just came in one mornin' and told me we was goin' minin' for gold on Pike's Peak."

Michaela shook her head ruefully. "You must have been so angry."

"Hm. When the mine went bust, my husband lost his good sense and disappeared with my money sock. Wasn't too much later I found out Brian was comin' along…" She eyed Michaela meaningfully.

Michaela smiled softly as she sipped her tea, thinking what a little blessing Brian was, but blanched when she caught Charlotte's eye.

"Oh. We're... we're not... expecting," she stuttered awkwardly.

"How can ya be so sure? A couple like you, so taken with each other."

Michaela shifted uneasily. "Well, I... We..." Charlotte arched her brow, but it was the kindness, the trustworthiness in her eyes that encouraged Michaela to go on. "We haven't..." she whispered, her cheeks growing warm.

"I see." Charlotte sipped her tea, her gaze turned to the fire.

Michaela's blush deepened, but somehow she was suddenly eager to partake in the company of a friend, Charlotte had become so dear to her in the last two days.

"We were only friends when we agreed to marry. It wasn't until later that we began to recognize deeper feelings for one another. We... we wanted to take things slowly." She fingered the watch at her throat. Charlotte just watched her, waiting for her to continue. "I... I've been wondering lately... if I'm ready... we're ready. But- but how does one know?"

Charlotte smiled ruefully. Ethan had captivated her with his big dreams when they were young, romanced her with such golden hopes. They had married quickly, and being with him had come in a rush of emotion on their wedding night. She had never really given it any forethought, and afterward has accepted it as part of married life. "I imagine most people don't get to decide when they're ready. Things just happen after they say their vows."

"I suppose."

Charlotte studied her. "You wanna be with him? Like that?"

Michaela thought a moment, trying to sort through her fear, her longing, her doubt, and her anticipation.

"Yes," she whispered.

"But?"

"I... I suppose I just don't know how to—to be with him."

Charlotte chuckled. "Those things tend to take care of themselves, Dr. Mike. Best thing you can do is, try not to think so much, just follow your heart, just be."

She smiled. "You sound like Sully."

"Sully's a wise man."

The women giggled together, and Michaela felt herself relax, if just a little.

* * *

Michaela didn't sleep well that night, her dreams filled with arousing images of herself and Sully, together in bed in the lamplight, intertwining with images of him falling, tumbling, reaching out and calling to her. At dawn, she gave up, rising and dressing quickly to ward of the chill of the lonely room. Today she would buy a cow and learn to milk it, and talk to the Reverend about establishing her practice as town doctor. Charlotte had advised her to speak with him first, as head of the town council, since there was as yet no mayor. And tonight, she and Sully would sleep at the homestead, in the freshly made bed before a warm, crackling fire, and perhaps... She shook herself. No use setting her heart on things not fully within her control. Sully might not himself be ready.

Her conversation with the Reverend didn't go well, for which she had been prepared. She would just have to begin practicing as the opportunity presented itself, Charlotte had said she could use a downstairs bedroom, and when they realized how needed she was, they would embrace her. Abby had mentioned her mother's heart, and they had found a way for Michaela to see her this morning, without Loren knowing. She smiled triumphantly. Already, she had one patient.

When lunchtime came and went with still no sign of Sully, Michaela decided to wait for him at the homestead. She would make supper for him, she decided. Charlotte would send him along when he returned to the boarding house.

At home, she picked some wildflowers she found growing along the road, and placed them in a small vase she found at the back of the kitchen shelf. Then, industriously, she began working on supper.

Michaela had long since discarded her burnt attempt at supper when night fell with no sign of Sully. She stoked the fire, anxiety making her restless. She paced for a while, unable to drink even the tea she'd prepared. Finally, she decided that in the morning, if Sully wasn't back, she would go to the reservation to find him. Exhausted but resolved, she sank into the rocking chair, watching the flames. After some time, she fell restlessly to sleep.

* * *

Loud, urgent banging sent her flying to her feet. It was still dark, and the fire was almost out. Afraid, she tried to decide whether to open the door, uncertain who could need her at this time of night. She hovered there, in the middle of the room, and nearly screamed when the door flew open.

Her eyes took in the bronze skin and long, black hair of the two men before she made out the limp form they carried between them. Sully.


	42. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

"Please, lay him on the bed," Michaela instructed, hoping these would be Cheyenne who spoke English. She knew some did, and others didn't.

They lay him out carefully on the bed, and she sat at his side immediately, checking for his pulse, the beat of his heart, his faint breath, anything and everything to assure he was alive. Relief washing over her, she looked up to find the elder of the two men sitting opposite her, his deep black eyes watching her with calm knowing.

"He is alive," he spoke simply, the nobility of his articulate voice somehow soothing her.

"Yes," she breathed, turning her eyes back to Sully's body to assess what she could see of his injuries.

"You are Dr. Mike," he stated.

Michaela glanced up again, surprised, and in that moment noticed that the other man, younger, his expression somewhat fierce, distrusting, was watching from the foot of the bed. The fire burned brightly behind him; he must have built it up.

"Yes, I am." She waited for him to continue, unable to keep her attention from Sully's condition. Gently and with the practiced efficiency of a physician, she unbuttoned the length of his shirt.

He nodded. "Sully speaks much of you. The Spirits told me you would be here."

"What happened to him?" She gently probed his abdomen, feeling for possible internal injuries, biting the inside of her cheek against the tide of emotion that told her this wasn't how it was meant to be, the first time she undressed him, touched him. Burying that unbidden emotion under her professionalism, she continued, rising to gently remove his boots and socks.

"I do not know." She cast him a skeptical eye, and he continued just as calmly. "He went to speak to a buffalo hunter called Rankin, but he did not return. I found him, but my medicine was not enough. He needs your help."

"Cloud Dancing," she breathed in recognition, remembering what Sully had told her of him. They had become close friends, despite the different worlds from which they'd come.

He nodded.

"Has he been conscious? Awake?"

"No. He will wake soon."

He watched her as she gently felt for breaks in his legs, keenly observing the tentative way in which she touched him, despite the obvious physician's knowledge. Not the knowing touch of a wife or the objective touch of a doctor, no, she was afraid. From this he knew they had yet to make their bond strong.

She returned to sit on the bed, checking his pupils a second time. "We can only hope," she whispered, wanting to believe Cloud Dancing but afraid of what she saw.

"He will." Cloud Dancing rose, and the other man moved to his side. "The sun will rise soon. We must go. I will return after nightfall."

"Yes, alright." He was almost gone when she called, "Cloud Dancing?" He turned, his posture erect and noble, his movements fluid. "Thank you," she whispered, "for bringing him to me."

He only nodded, his black eyes warm, and then he was gone.

* * *

Michaela stared at him for a moment, the bruised jaw, one eye swollen shut, a split lip. His right leg was broken, both tibia and fibula; she would have to splint and cast it. Thankfully, the bones hadn't broken through the skin. Bruised ribs, probably some broken, and how much internal damage? She couldn't know until he woke up, until he could respond to her to tell her what he felt.

Quickly, she cut open the sleeves of his shirt, cutting the material away from his body. His arms weren't broken, thank God, though several deep purple bruises had formed on his muscles. Then she went to work on the buckskin pants, a woman's heart racing at the prospect in spite of the physician's practical need to know. Her skillful eye forcefully ignored the fullness of his form, lying there prone in the firelight, and found more bruises, though nothing more than the initial breaks she'd felt, at least at the moment. It took her an hour to cast his leg, there being no assistance from Sully or anyone else to help her. She drew a sheet and quilt over him. Now, to wait.

At the stove, she brewed tea and made some thin oatmeal, turning to look for any sign of change every so often. Broth would be better. She would have to find a way to get into town tomorrow, ask Charlotte to help her with food. Returning to the bed, she applied a liniment to the cuts on his hands and bruised eye and stitched his lip, then applied more liniment where she could see swelling, abrasions, or bruising on his arms, torso, legs.

Finally, she stoked the fire and wrapped herself in her shawl and lay down next to him to wait, needing to be near him. She maintained her distance, afraid of falling asleep and leaning her weight on him, hurting him. She watched him for a long time, the shallow rise and fall of the blanket covering his chest, studying the bruises and swelling on his face. Her mind raced with possibilities, prognoses, questions, concerns, and doubts. Had this happened before? Would he be himself? And internal injuries. Would he require surgery? How would she contact Charlotte?

* * *

Michaela woke a few hto the sun streaming through the window into her eyes, feeling strangely refreshed and hopeful, as if anything was possible. Seeing no change, she rose carefully so as not to hurt Sully, and slipped quickly out to the outhouse. Returning, she sat next to him on the bed, gently covering his hand with her own.

She carefully held his hand for some time, remembering their life together. The sweet little boy in the tree, swimming in the lake in New York, throwing flour at one another in Josie's kitchen, giving chase and simply talking together at Boston Harbor, discovering runaway slaves in the woods, the lows and highs of the summer helping the poor in Boston. Then so much distance, separation, and then finding one another again. Getting married. Falling in love. Gently, she touched his brow. This couldn't be the end. Not now. There was still so much for them to experience together.

And then he stirred, his head moving a little as his hand clenched beneath hers.

"Mch," he groaned, pain evident in his voice. "Mch."

"Sully," she whispered, running a cool cloth over his brow. "Sully? It's alright, you're going to be alright," she intoned, watching him struggle to regain consciousness, to sit up. "Shh, take your time. Just try to open your eye. Relax," she soothed, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

Sully opened his good eye, his body riddled with aching, piercing, and throbbing pain. Michaela's face hovered above him, taking his breath away, her soft hand taking his. Her eyes, those eyes captured him, the amber and emerald as vivid as ever in the soft daylight, full of confidence, compassion, tenderness, love. Love. He loved her. So much. His eyes ran over her face, so smooth and delicate, the curves so soft. With effort, he raised his free hand to run his finger along the clear line of her jaw, in awe of her.

"I… love you," he managed, his breath catching at the pain it caused him to speak.

"Shh. I love you, too, Sully. You're going to be alright," she soothed. "Now that you're awake, it's important that I examine you, to look for any internal injuries, and then I can give you something for the pain."

"'Kay," he grunted in assent. He looked surprised, impressed, despite his bruised and swollen face, but she proceeded with her examination, knowing he might not be able to comprehend the extent of his injuries.

He grunted uncomfortably, the degree of his responses varying with the apparent degree of pain, as she had hoped. She probed his torso for a little while, and though he was a little self-conscious about her seeing him like this, shirtless, the pain of it chased those thoughts away. She was tickling his left leg and his feet and he opened his eye, trying to lift his head to see her.

"What're you doing?" he groaned, his feet twitching under the instrument in her hand.

"Checking your reflexes, which appear quite normal," she smiled knowingly, her eyes sparkling at his response to the tickling stimuli. She pulled the sheet and blanket back down. Then she was gone for a little while and he lay thinking about her, how beautiful she was, how competent and soft and smart, and how he wished he wasn't hurting so bad, so he could really talk to her, be with her.

Feeling the mattress dip beside him, he opened his good eye, noticing a little concern had joined the other emotions in her eyes. She was more than he had imagined she would be. So much more.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered painfully, just then remembering she'd told him she loved him a little while ago. His heart soared.

"Sully, please," she hushed him, a slight blush warming her cheeks. Assuming her professional demeanor, she touched his arm compassionately. "You have several broken ribs, Sully. I'll need to wrap them tightly. And your right leg was broken. I casted it early this morning. You'll have to keep off of it for several weeks."

He swallowed hard. "No walking?"

"Not until I can get some crutches made for you – I'm afraid I didn't bring any."

Gritting his teeth against his discomfort, he tried to digest what she was saying. "What about Josef or Johann, would they have some?"

Perplexed, Michaela's brow creased as she hesitated. "Yes, perhaps they would have, but—"

"Are they here?" he interjected.

Fear gripping her heart, Michaela directed her outwardly stoic gaze out the window for a moment, collecting herself as she inhaled deeply. Again, she took his hand, studying his face. "No. No, they're not here." She changed the subject deliberately. "Sully, it would help me if you could tell me what happened to you, how this happened."

He closed his eyes, thinking back.

"I… don't remember," he managed to grit out through the sharp pain in his abdomen.

"Sully, I know you're in terrible pain. Please, try to stay with me for another moment." He nodded stiffly. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He thought a moment, his eyes closed. "You came to my room in Boston last night… gave me your portrait… we promised… got on the train back to New York this morning… everything was normal… feeling tired…" He was quiet then, concentrating hard. "Did the train crash?"

Blinking back tears, Michaela shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Here, let me help you sit up, so I can wrap your ribs."

Sully groaned with the effort even with Michaela's help, conscious of her proximity and, for the first time, the extent of his nakedness. Self-consciously, he placed his hand in his lap, trying to casually hold the sheets in place.

He watched her search through a doctor's bag at the kitchen table, wondering why she had so abruptly ended her questions. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't place it. Distracted, his eyes ran over her hair, falling over her back nearly to her waist, rich and full with soft curls. Something about her form seemed different, too, somehow more feminine, more defined, yet he couldn't put his finger on the difference from yesterday any more than he could decide what made her face so much more radiant.

He straightened a little, groaning, as she turned toward him with a large roll of bandaging in her hands. She sat next to him, unwrapping it a little and circling it around his ribcage before she lifted her eyes tentatively to his.

"This will hurt, Sully. When I'm done I'll give you something for the pain."

He nodded, gritting her teeth as she pulled the material tight, leaning in to him as she brought her arms around him to tightly wrap his chest. Her hair tickled his skin, its fragrance as light and fresh as ever. She kept her eyes downcast, focused on her work, but his own concentrated on her features, seeing a slight blush grow on her cheeks despite the professional façade, as if she knew he was watching her. He marveled at her shyness, that something seemed to have grown between them overnight. He remembered hugging her last night, the feel of her slight, warm curves beneath the thin cotton of her nightgown, how he'd instinctually wanted to keep touching her, keep holding her. She hadn't left his thoughts since then, though he'd felt guilty for considering her in such a way. But now, the guilt had mysteriously fallen away and what was more, she seemed to feel similarly, or at least she wasn't denying it, though she was clearly trying to focus on her duties to him as a doctor.

That was the other thing. She was acting like a full-fledged doctor, like she didn't need Josef or Johann to help or advise her, though she was still in college. Confused and unable to draw any conclusions through the pain that began to dull his thinking, he closed his eyes, grunting uncomfortably.

"There, I'm finished. Let me help you lie back, and I'll give you something for the pain."

Her gentle voice was soft, soothing, and he relaxed back against the pillows, his ribs and his leg throbbing. She rose and returned shortly, slipping a hand beneath his neck and holding a glass to his lips, urging him to finish the bitter, metallic-tasting water.

"Rest now, try to sleep."

She moved to retrieve the liniment, but he caught her hand, squeezing it gently.

"Thanks—" he breathed uncomfortably, his body tensing as he felt something strange on her hand. "What—what's this?" He lifted his head so he could see her hand.

"Sully," she warned, trying to pull away.

"You're married?"

She sighed, not wanting to go into this right now, especially since the medication was likely to put him to sleep shortly. "Yes," she whispered, looking into his eyes beseechingly.

"We just talked – promised." He seemed more confused than anything, reasonably so considering he was locked in a world that existed over ten years ago. "Tell me it's not David," he whispered forcefully.

She couldn't help but smile. "No, it's not David," she whispered, trying to hide her irrational mirth.

"I don't understand," he murmured hoarsely, clearly perplexed. "Who? You never talked about anyone else. It happened so fast."

She didn't know how to do this, how to tell him. She knew little about amnesia, less about partial amnesia, and was afraid to confuse him further.

She sighed, watching him carefully. He seemed more alert than ever, his eyes trained on her.

"That's just it, Sully. It didn't happen very quickly at all. I'm afraid your attack has cost you some memory loss, perhaps ten years' worth." He looked visibly shaken, his eyes growing large as he listened to her. She did her best to soothe him. "I don't want you to be concerned, not yet. Some level of memory loss isn't uncommon after the type of trauma you've endured, and is likely temporary." He stared at her blankly. "You should regain your memory completely," she clarified with more confidence than she felt.

"That's why you seem a little different. You're really a doctor now. A good one," he marveled, almost to himself, though the weight of a missing ten years felt impossibly heavy.

She smiled self-consciously. He grinned a little, charmed by her, and for the first time, began to digest his surroundings.

"Where are we?"

She smiled gently. "Colorado," she breathed.

"I made it out west… This my place?" he asked, gesturing to the interior of the homestead with a slight movement of his head.

"Ours," she corrected him softly. His eyes flew to hers, finding only confirmation there.

"Ours? Us? You and me?"

She smiled, her expression a mixture of joy and uncertainty. "Yes," she whispered.

He stared at her in awe. If they were married, then… he closed his eyes, remembering the promise they had made, so fresh in his mind. Ten years later, would they have fallen in love, or merely married after they had found no one else? But she'd returned his sentiment of love earlier, had blushed under his gaze. Yes, they were in love, had been married possibly for years, had been… been together, he realized, and he couldn't remember it. How could he forget something like that? How—

"Sully?" Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and he opened his eyes, searching hers. "I know this is a lot to digest. But for now, it's best if you try to rest, get some sleep. We can talk more later."

"But—" he began, his eyelids suddenly growing heavy.

"Shh… Please Sully, rest now." Lightly, she stroked his hair back from his brow, her mind processing all that must be confusing him. There was so much to explain. Almost immediately, his breathing grew deep and steady, and he relaxed, the pain medication taking full effect.

Belatedly, she looked at the stove, remembering the oatmeal she'd made. She sighed; he would likely eat heartily next time he awoke. He would need good nourishment in order to encourage his healing.

* * *

When Michaela didn't come into town that morning, Charlotte loaded up her wagon with groceries and drove herself out to the homestead, leaving little Brian with Colleen in case she needed to have another heart to heart with Dr. Mike. She thought she was probably as worried about the doctor as the doctor was about Sully.

She was relieved to find Sully had made it back, even if he was hurt. Standing over the stove together making chicken broth while Sully slept, Michaela told her what little she knew about his confrontation with Rankin.

"Well, that don't surprise me. That man's got an evil look to 'im. Caused a scuffle in the saloon a little while back – Jake had to sew somebody up afterward. That man's nothin' but trouble."

"I can't but agree," Michaela said softly, the evidence lying before her on the bed.

"Here," Charlotte said, removing the chicken leftovers from the simmering pot of broth. "You just get 'im to drink this down, keep any leftovers in the icebox for later. You should have plenty of provisions to get ya through the day. I'll come back tomorrow with Colleen – get some chores done for ya. Ya need anythin'else?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she finished packing up her things.

"You've already done so much. I can't thank you enough, Charlotte."

"Well, you just get that one fixed up, don't worry 'bout the rest."

"Thank you, Charlotte." They hugged, and Charlotte let herself out.

Michaela stood in the doorway watching her drive down the lane. She hadn't been able to bring herself to tell Charlotte about Sully's memory loss yet, she hadn't had time to digest it herself. Resolutely, she closed the door, digging through her trunk until she found the medical textbook she was looking for.

* * *

"Michaela," Sully rasped some time later, the deep, throbbing pain in his leg rousing him from sleep.

"I'm here," she said soothingly, appearing beside him with a cool cloth for his brow.

He grasped her hand, grimacing as he drew it close to his heart. The movement was instinctual, puzzling his broken memory with its intimacy and nearly bringing Michaela to tears for its familiarity.

"You're in pain, Sully, let me—"

"No. I don't wanna sleep again. Talk to me. Tell me about us." His gaze caressed her face, defying the pain in his body for the sake of seeking out his memory.

"Drink some of this first," she urged gently, handing him a mug of warm chicken broth, a thick, buttered slice of bread waiting for him on the bedside table. "You need to eat in order to heal."

He took a sip, the warm, savory liquid nearly as soothing as her presence, making him realize how hungry he was for both. "You talk. I'll eat."

* * *

A/N: Please don't nail me with medical errors... I just need the story to work for me, without being sickeningly unrealistic. And for those of you who are growing impatient for further development of their relationship: soon, my friends. Soon!


	43. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

The two weeks that followed were somewhat of a blur. Michaela devoted each day to caring for Sully, and to telling him everything she knew about the years they spent apart, and then, everything that had happened since they were reunited. Michaela was pleased when he seemed to know on his own when Johann and then Josie passed. He felt it was some sort of intuition, but she knew it was his memory returning, a piece at a time. Just as the sun began to warm the Colorado spring, so Sully's memory began to return as his body healed.

Cloud Dancing came often at night, bringing herbal poultices and teas to treat Sully's wounds, and sharing his wisdom with Michaela a little at a time. She was delighted to learn from him, and couldn't help but notice Sully's obvious improvement in response to Cloud Dancing's medicine.

Charlotte, too, was a regular presence at the homestead, often bringing the children along to help with chores. The children, already fond of Sully, rapidly grew attached to Michaela as well, especially Colleen, who was fascinated to learn everything she could from Michaela.

Using her apron to protect her hands, Charlotte pulled a chicken pie from the oven, placing it on the stove to cool. Colleen was sitting at the table rolling clean bandages with Michaela while Brian sat on his knees on the bed next to Sully, listening to him retell ancient Cheyenne legends he'd heard from Cloud Dancing the night before.

Charlotte smiled at the scene before her, glad to have found such true friends in these two, glad to lend a needed hand. "Well, kids, we best get goin'. Gotta get supper on for the boarders," she announced, eliciting a groan from Brian.

"Can't I stay an' eat here, Ma?"

"Now Brian, you know I need your help settin' the table and snappin' beans."

"Oh yeah!" he said, scrambling down from the bed and running toward the door. "Race ya to the wagon Colleen!"

The adults exchanged knowing smiles as Colleen huffed after him. It wouldn't be long before the little boy lost didn't want to help, but for now, helping was just as fun as playing, and reminded him how much he was needed by his ma.

"Thank you again, Charlotte," Michaela said, rising to hug her friend.

"Pleasure's mine," she assured. She eyed Sully teasingly, "I'll look forward to seein' ya on those crutches Sunday. 'Bout time ya joined us for a Sunday picnic," she scolded playfully, closing the door after herself.

Sully was still smiling when Michaela sat next to him on the bed, setting to work pushing up the sheet that covered his legs so she could inspect his wounds. He stiffened, his legs bare under his nightshirt but for the cast on his right leg. His affection for her, his love for her, had only deepened in the past two weeks, from an innate to an abiding knowledge. But the transition she often underwent between doctor and wife was difficult for him to weather, and even now, the soft touch of her hands as she began to lightly examine his wounds elicited sensations within him he knew he should keep from her.

He watched her, her eyes downcast, thick lashes brushing light pink cheeks, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. The sweet taste of her came suddenly to his mouth, accompanied by the urge to soothe away the worrying her teeth had done to her lip with his kiss. His eyes trailed down her shoulders, poised even as she leaned over him, applying salve to a healing gash in his thigh, to her hands, delicate, precise, tender, efficient in their movements. She was so many things. Soft, yet fiercely determined, shy, intelligent, compassionate, stubborn. Anyone would be taken by her beauty, but to know her, inside and out, made her truly captivating.

His eyes settled at her waist, his palms somehow knowing, maybe even remembering, what it was to touch her there, the warm, smooth contours of her form beneath layers of cotton or silk. Just as trim but softer in the absence of a corset. For the thousandth time he cursed himself for not being able to remember being with her. He couldn't remember how she looked in her underclothes, the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the warm, light contours of her form pressed against his harder, heavier body. They hadn't discussed the more intimate details of their union, nor the transition from friendship to the more complete love they shared now, but it was clear it had happened. They were married, after all.

But they'd hardly touched these past two weeks. Granted his fractured ribs were painful, and he was badly bruised and beaten, but she had avoided their physical contact with a skill that was admirable, if not frustrating. He knew she must have doubts about his mental condition, how much he remembered. Maybe she was even afraid of somehow affecting his memory recovery. But his love for her, his passion for her, was one thing he hadn't forgotten, whether he'd always felt it or it functioned independent of memory, he didn't know.

He drew in a sharp, silent breath as she began to massage his muscles, calling him back to the present. As professional as she was when she came to him as his doctor, he was always her husband, and given the nature and direction of his previous thoughts, the depth of her touch was more than he could take.

Gently but firmly, he placed his hand over hers, stopping her movements. For the first time since she'd sat beside him, she glanced up, her brow creased in confusion.

"Sully, it's important that I massage your muscles, in order to avoid atrophy…" she began, trailing off as she recognized the rising heat smoldering in his eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat as his fingers moved lightly up her arm, the fine cotton of her shirt caressing her skin under his touch, raising goose bumps there.

Unable to look away, she didn't move as he leaned toward her. They were so close. Her breath caught as he drew near, his lips meeting hers in a featherlight caress. His hand closed over her shoulder, his thumb caressing her collarbone as his other hand slowly framed her face, his touch, his mouth, his nearness rousing feelings she hadn't allowed herself to feel since the morning he'd left her in the boarding house.

He drew back reluctantly, holding her gaze as his thumb traced the soft contours of her bottom lip.

Michaela swallowed dryly. "…Y-you were so tired yesterday after the talks. We need to get you on your feet again…" she persisted feebly, trying and failing to break the moment.

"I'll do it," he whispered conclusively, bringing his hand over the line of her shoulder so he could stroke the soft skin of her neck above her collar. She blushed, suddenly realizing why he'd stopped her movements before, and dropped her gaze bashfully.

His touch faltered, and slowly, she raised her eyes back to his face, finding his brow furrowed as he stared at her throat. Suddenly self-conscious, she brought her fingers to her collar, wondering if it had somehow come undone, or if she had flour from the pie crust on her skin.

"Where's your locket, your watch?" he asked suddenly, his eyes searching hers.

Her eyes widened, lips parted in shock. "W-what?" She deliberately hadn't told him of their courtship following the platonic agreement they'd made for their marriage, finding it too confusing and, somehow, too intimate to explain when he didn't remember it, remember them.

"The locket I gave ya, when I pro—" he stopped suddenly, as his eyes dropped to the rings on her finger, knowing he'd given her that engagement ring, images of picking it out from beneath the glass in a high end jewelry store rising in his mind.

"Sully," she whispered, not knowing what else to say, astounded at his returning memory, unsure how to help him put the still-missing pieces together.

"Did I propose to ya twice?" he asked, confusion having replaced every other emotion in his eyes.

She searched his eyes, her heart aching for his bewildered mind. "Yes, but—"

"You turned me down the first time?" he pressed, trying to make sense of it all.

"No, Sully, I—"

"I don't—" he began, withdrawing from her more from confusion than rejection, but the movement frightened her that she was losing him.

"Sully, if you'll let me explain," she began, but he remained unmoving, his own thoughts struggling to sort out, to find, memories that were eluding him. She watched him, unsure whether he was ready for her to continue, and then decided to forge ahead anyway. "You did propose twice, but I never refused you. I… I'm afraid it's a little confusing, our story," she said gently, touching his hand. He met her eyes then, encouraging her to go on.

"We were friends, best friends, when you proposed to me the first time. We agreed to marry, but to remain the best of friends, to leave our relationship at that." She paused, waiting for the dawn of understanding in his eyes to save her from going on, but it didn't come. She took a deep breath. "We agreed to exclude the more… intimate… aspects of marriage, but to marry anyway, as we promised we would when we were young." She studied him, uncertain whether he understood, uncertain where he stood, if he was still seventeen in his own mind, or twenty-eight, or somewhere in between. Lately, he seemed himself, but there were still so many missing pieces…

"But we fell in love anyway," he prompted her, his mind racing to sort it all out as she placed more pieces before him.

"Yes," she murmured, warmth rising to her cheeks at the thought, how it felt to be held by him, to receive his kiss, his caress, to feel the security, the comfort of his strength, "…after we were married. You suggested we court. We agreed to take it slowly. You said you didn't want to miss anything," she breathed, moved once again by his thoughtfulness, how much he had shown her he truly cared, truly loved her, by that gesture.

"Now I'm missin' it all again," he said coldly, frustrated.

She touched his forearm, but it wasn't enough, and she touched his cheek, shaking her head. "You're remembering," she countered, so much tenderness in her eyes.

He searched her eyes for a long moment, looking for the answers he needed in the soft jades and hazels before him. "Have we…" he trailed off, embarrassed to have to ask, knowing it would embarrass her, but somehow desperate to know.

"No," she whispered, blushing, "not yet."

He exhaled a long sigh, falling back against the headboard. "Good." Noting her perplexed, perhaps even hurt expression, he continued. "I just… I couldn't remember. I feel things, here," he clenched his fist over his heart, "but I don't know if they're memories, or just feelin's. When I couldn't remember us, couldn't picture us together… that's not something I thought I should forget."

She couldn't' prevent the blush from rising to her cheeks. "Oh, Sully, no, no you haven't forgotten. But those feelings… I suppose…" she stumbled, struggling for the right words. "We— you proposed so very recently, with the locket…" She met his eyes, struck by his rapt gaze, filled with longing and, somehow, empathy. "Those feelings…" she whispered, the remainder of her thought plain between them as they gazed at one another with longing.

"Soon," he whispered as if he knew, as if he remembered, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

Her heart pounding, breath short, mouth dry, she was suddenly very aware of his proximity, the feelings they shared, and the speed in which this moment had unexpectedly fallen upon them. She wanted to fall into his arms, for his injuries, his amnesia, to vanish, but she was frightened. Frightened that he wasn't fully himself again, frightened that it was too soon, too unexpected, frightened for his still healing body, frightened because she didn't know what to do, or how. And overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the heat in his eyes, the tenderness of his touch, the desire it elicited in her to draw closer to him, always closer.

"We—we should have dinner, before it gets cold," she said, her voice shaky. She rose from the bed, going over to the stove to retrieve the dish that sat cooling there. "Charlotte made us a lovely chicken pie."

Stunned by the sudden change of subject, Sully stared at her a moment, knowing she was avoiding them, but not quite sure why. Inwardly relenting, he decided to let it go, not to push something he didn't understand. He smiled indulgently, reaching for his crutches and limping over to the table as Michaela set out plates and glasses for cold tea. "Sounds good."

* * *

Sunday was only the second time Sully had left the homestead since his injuries, the first having been the talks which Michaela had finally permitted him to schedule several days before, which had gone relatively well, thanks to the meticulous notes he'd recorded before he was hurt, and the hours of studying his injuries allowed him, in addition to the conversations he'd shared with Cloud Dancing. There was a tentative agreement between the army and the Indians for now, which left the Cheyenne at less of a disadvantage than it could have, and put off the tyranny of the army a little longer. Sully had come home tired, sore, and frustrated, wondering if justice would ever be forthcoming for the indian tribes.

The Coopers, Sully, and Michaela shared a companionable lunch on a large quilt following the church service, after which Colleen begged off to chat with her friend Becky, and Brian talked Sully into hurling the baseball so he and Matthew could practice batting in the meadow. Soon other boys gathered, and they nearly had a full-blown game going. Michaela watched after him anxiously, afraid of what a stray ball could do to his still sore and fragile rib cage.

Charlotte patted her hand, drawing her attention back to her friend. "You're frettin'," she noted, as she placed the final dishes back in the basket.

Michaela dropped her eyes bashfully to her lap, then couldn't resist raising them again to Sully before meeting her friend's frank gaze. "His bones are still healing. If he was hit by a ball, or if he fell…"

"You told him to be careful. He will be," she said, her eyes twinkling. "How're you two doing?"

"Sully and I? Fine, we're fine."

Charlotte nodded slowly, her eyes keen on her friend, and waited.

"His memory is slowly returning, as I would have hoped. And his external injuries seem to be healing remarkably fast," she elaborated, hoping that would appease her friend.

"And?"

"And?" Michaela repeated, feigning ignorance. Charlotte eyed her knowingly. She sighed, a small, crooked smile forming wistfully on her lips. "All the old feelings are there, and the new. Perhaps stronger now, I don't know. I—I just don't know for sure if he's fully himself again, or… There still seem to be so many missing pieces in his mind."

"Seems himself to me. Don't you think the rest'll come in time?"

"Yes, of course I do. I just—I suppose I've been so preoccupied with his recovery, I haven't considered moving forward in our relationship right now. He's still in pain, still healing, still recovering his memory…"

"Maybe so," Charlotte acknowledged. "But it seems to me that man's taken with you. Y'almost lost him once. Best not waste your time," she advised, patting Michaela decisively on the arm.

"Dr. Mike! Dr. Mike!"

Michaela was up and running, doctor's bag in hand, before Charlotte could register the frantic voice of Abby coming from the other side of the meadow. Loren stood nearby, staring dumfounded at the picnic blanket, where Maude lay curled on her side, her hand pressed to her breast.

Michaela dropped to her knees behind Maude, elevating her head upon her lap and shading her eyes with her body.

"Abby, the medicine I gave her. Where is it?" she asked urgently as she listened to the rapid, weak, uneven beating of Maude's heart through her stethoscope.

"Abby!" she shouted when the young woman didn't respond, looking up to find her staring desperately, imploringly at Loren.

"Pa do ya have it?"

Loren just gaped at Maude, watching her face grow more pale by the moment.

"Mr. Bray!" Michaela shouted, trying to shake him out of it with the force of her voice.

"L-l-latrine," he finally managed, dropping to his knees, his eyes never leaving his wife.

Michaela turned immediately to Abby, who was kneeling over her mother holding her hand. "Abby. Abby, listen to me. I need you to run to the post office, as quickly as you can. See if Horace has a package for me from Chicago. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she nodded breathlessly, frozen in fear.

"Go!" Michaela urged, jolting Abby into action. Immediately, she looked back to Maude's pale face lying in her lap, smoothing back her hair as she gasped for breath. There was nothing she could do if the medicine hadn't come. Nothing but offer some comfort and hope she made it through this episode.

Looking up, she realized a crowd had gathered. Jake Slicker, too, looked frozen in shock, standing back as he watched Maude's fading face. Others stood by with concern and thinly veiled curiosity, waiting for this woman who called herself a doctor to prove herself to them, to magically earn their trust. She made eye contact with Charlotte, who held Brian in front of her while Colleen clung to her arm. Michaela shook her head subtly, indicating to Charlotte she should take the children away, they shouldn't be here.

"Shh," she soothed Maude, "take deep, even breaths. As slow and even as you can."

Sully sank carefully down beside her and touched her back. "Anything I can do?" he asked quietly.

Never looking up, she shook her head. "We just have to wait," she whispered, glancing in the direction of the post office. In truth, she knew the package likely hadn't come yet, and this episode was lasting far too long. Anger toward Loren began to boil up in her as she considered what he had so foolishly done. It had likely cost his wife her life. When she saw Abby running back, empty-handed, she turned immediately to Jake and the Reverend.

"We need to get her home. Quickly," she instructed, wanting to get Maude away from the town's watchful gaze. Dumbly, both men lifted Maude into their arms, Michaela helping them position her so her head was up, and they carried her quickly toward the mercantile.

An hour later, Sully and Charlotte sat on the porch when Michaela emerged from the store, townsfolk gathered all around. Her eyes told Sully everything he needed to know, and he rose, coming to stand behind her, wordlessly conveying his support.

* * *

Together Michaela and Sully unhitched the wagon and put the horses up for the night. They worked silently, Sully moving slowly and painfully, Michaela discouraged by Maude's loss. She helped him up the steps to the porch, once more keenly aware of Sully's apparent pain and fatigue.

She went to him as he began unbuttoning his shirt, moving to help him. Exhausted and aching though he was, he was just as aware of her fatigue.

"I can do it," he whispered, stilling her fingers.

"I know," she persisted. "But you've done too much today. I don't want you to strain yourself further."

But he wouldn't release her hands. "Let me," he whispered firmly.

She stared at him a moment, his gaze at once firm and tender, unrelenting in both. Feeling her eyes well with tears, she dropped her gaze.

"I'll start some water for tea," she murmured, turning sharply toward the kitchen, lighting the fire in the stove.

He changed quickly into his pajamas and knelt to set the fire in the hearth. Rising with the help of his crutch, he found her staring at the stove, motionless.

A tender hand cupped her shoulder, and she wiped her eyes self-consciously.

"Michaela," he whispered, urging her with the gentle pressure of his fingers to turn around. She did, large eyes lustrous with tears meeting his.

"If Loren hadn't thrown away the medicine, if the package had come…"

He drew her into his arms, drawing in a silent breath in discomfort. "Ya did the best ya could. Ya can't blame yourself, ya can't get hung up on what ifs," he whispered soothingly, stroking her hair.

"Oh Sully," she breathed into his shoulder, sorrow and exhaustion and love and worry all compounding on one another until all she could do was cling to him, letting go of it all for the time being.

"Shh, it's gonna be okay. Ya been through so much lately," he soothed.

"So have you," she whispered, sniffling.

"I've never seen ya so worried when I left for the reservation. Can't imagine what it musta been like waiting for me to come back. Then losin' my memory, you musta been scared you might lose me, too, just when we thought we had it all."

She looked up at him in awe. She hadn't told him of her fear. For him to remember something so recent… She smiled wistfully, framing his face in her small hand.

"We do have it all," she whispered truthfully.

He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, a soft smile on his lips. Forgetting everything, forgetting the pain in his chest and the loss of Mrs. Bray and the stress of the last few weeks, forgetting everything but her, this moment, his love for her, he kissed her. Softly at first, his lips brushed hers, tentative, sweet, coaxing. But she surrendered to his touch, his kiss, almost immediately, she as lost as he was in her relief to have him back completely, forgetting as he did his still-broken body. The kiss deepened quickly has caressing hands moved over arms, backs, necks, stomachs.

Breathless and weak with passion, they eased onto the bed, Sully's mouth moving warm and caressing over her chin to her throat, setting her ablaze as he moved down her neck. Desperate for her, hisown body on fire, he unbuttoned the first button of her blouse without thinking, dissatisfied with the amount of skin it bared to him. His movements slowed, and deepened as he realized he'd never done this before, the intimacy of undressing her even this little bit only fueling his passion. He unbuttoned another button, and another, and another, his mouth open and hot caressing the exposed skin. He paused when he encountered the fine lace trim and narrow ribbon of her camisole, the hint of the swell of her form barely discernable to his sensitive lips.

Michaela's breath caught, her fingers combing into his hair, caressing his scalp, overwhelmed by the sensations he aroused in her. Some part of her knew they should stop, knew he was in pain, knew this wouldn't help him heal, but that part of her was somehow disconnected from the part of her whose heart and soul were merging with his as their bodies moved together. She had ached, these past weeks, for this feeling of union with him, this sense of oneness she felt when they expressed their love in such an intimate way.

He laid his cheek against her chest, breathing hard as he suppressed a groan of combined pain in his ribs and pleasure in this moment. Never had he allowed himself to become so aroused by her, so lost in her. Gradually, he rolled to his back, grunting at the shooting pain in his chest, and reached over to clasp her hand in his.

Michaela squeezed his hand, concerned. "You're hurting. We shouldn't have—"

"Yes we should," he interjected. He released her hand to softly stroke her cheek, his eyes warm. "I love you."

Losing all desire to argue, she turned on her side, propping her head on her elbow, and touched his lips, quieting him. "And I you," she intoned sincerely. "Rest now," she whispered, stroking his hair, his arm. "Rest."


End file.
